


The Prince's Penance

by Ocreata



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Canon-Typical Violence, Courtship, Drama & Romance, During Canon, Emotional Baggage, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Love Triangles, Political Alliances, Politics, Rivalry, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 182,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23432530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ocreata/pseuds/Ocreata
Summary: Once childhood friends, Evelyn Trevelyan and Sebastian Vael are now enemies- at least according to her.  A shameful betrayal in their youth is not something she has any interest in moving past.  Evelyn does not forgive.  She does not forget.  More than that, she doesn't believe he has changed.When she makes a promise to Varric to protect Kirkwall from him and sits to negotiate on the Inquisition's behalf, he is not the man she remembers.  Thoughtful, pious, a far cry from the drunken, carelessly cruel boy.  It is a change in personality that would be good for their negotiations- if he hadn't decided that the Maker was calling him to protect the Herald of Andraste.  Himself.Who better than him?After all, they are betrothed.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Cullen Rutherford, Female Trevelyan/Sebastian Vael
Comments: 187
Kudos: 63





	1. An Ally from Starkhaven

_Dear Mother,_

_Despite whatever you may have heard, I am, in fact, alive and well. Enclosed are letters to Max, Angus, Alan, Callum, Liam, and Father. I know that I can trust you to get them where they belong. I am alive, but unfortunately, as you have no doubt heard, the conclave was destroyed. I do not know what happened, or why I survived, but I have. I am very sorry to report that I am the only one. Our beloved cousins and uncle, or any of the others in our delegation did not survive._

_The Maker has seen fit to gift me with the power to heal the rifts in the sky._

_It is a very strange thing to write, mother dear, and a stranger thing even yet to live. They are calling me the Herald of Andraste, but I cannot claim I hear any divine guidance. The Inquisition has asked me for my aid, and I have acquiesced. I fear the Chantry is in too much disarray to handle the crisis now set before us. I hope that you will trust in me now, and that whatever may come, please trust me when I say that I am no heretic, mother, only a woman given a gift- or a curse- trying to do the right thing._

_I have remembered the skills that you taught me, never fear. I will use them to keep myself alive, and trust that Thedas will understand in time that I am not the enemy. There is something far greater that we face now, and I will try to encourage all to work together, to stand together and not fall apart, divided._

_Please give my love to da and make sure he reads his letter._

_As for me, I will do as you always asked of me. I will say my prayers, I will not neglect my needlework, and I will not let my shield arm falter. Forever, I am,_

_Your Faithful Daughter,_

_Evelyn Isobel Dierdre Trevelyan_

Crushed pine and the smell of horses in the air, campfire smoke and the bite of winter wind in the nostrils. Achingly unfamiliar scents, which only drove home the forlorn sense of homesickness. It sat in her heart, a heavy burden to be carried only internally, private and secure.

Cleaned, oiled, sharpened, its leather waxed, her blade had been put away for the evening. They had stopped early, reaching a proper Inquisition camp to spend the night. The buzz of activity was comforting, a quiet background noise as she inspected the strap of her shield. Still secure, but it must be checked dutifully, for its failure could be her death.

Satisfied with it, she gently set it aside, and pulled her pack around.

"You handled yourself pretty well, boss," Iron Bull complimented from across the fire, voice relaxed.

No mention of her stature or nature being contradictory to martial skill, which was a pleasant surprise. An unexpectedly pleasant one. Perhaps the mercenary would be better company than she anticipated. Still, she simply inclined her head and smiled dutifully to his compliment.

"You gotta watch out for Marchers. Most of them are born with a sword in their hand," Varric declared wryly, humor as always in his voice. "It's kinda like the stubbornness, part of the package."

"I am always agreeable and mild of manner." She contradicted with placid frigidity, unbuckling the strap of her pack and drawing it through the loop. "No one has ever accused me of being stubborn, or unpleasant."

"Yeah, that's a trap," Bull remarked under his breath. He slapped both hands down on his knees, rising to his feet.

"Probably because they wouldn't survive it," Varric retorted slyly, and then met her small, impish smile as she glanced up at him from under her lashes. "Don't use your 'lady' voice at me. I can see right through it."

"As you command, Messere Tethras." She laughed faintly at his noisy scoff, lifting a hand in farewell to Bull. "I only tease because you endure it. We will be to Haven before you know it, for a long-awaited rest. I am glad to be gone from the Storm Coast."

"You mean a long-awaiting pile of letters," Varric said, with resignation. "Shit, well, it's got to be done."

"If they attempt to put me in that bloody beige leather...getup again, I will give it to Vivienne to start on fire." She drew out the folded piece of fabric from her pack, needle still stuck into it securely. "She will collude with me, you know that she will."

"Can you fight in a dress, Herald?" Varric asked her, archly knowing. "Sword in one hand, skirt in the other?"

Unfolding her embroidery, she slid a thumb across the gleaming finished threads, sliding out the needle. Around them there was noise and chaos, but here could be found some calm. Just for a moment, long enough to keep her sane.

"Would you like to test me, Varric? By all means, I would be delighted to spar you. In a dress."

They shared a smile, his wry, relaxed at last. She could not call him friend, but at least they were easier companions now. She was all too aware that many people found her off putting, intimidating. She was glad Varric was at least willing to pretend he did not.

If only he would call her by her name.

She accepted the Maker's will, but she was also still Evelyn.

"I think I'll pass." Varric decided, shaking his head.

They sat in companionable silence for a time, as she worked on the delicate wing of a sparrow, the calming rhythm of embroidery thread through cloth soothing her mind. She listened to the sounds of Varric fiddling with the contraption he called Bianca, to the noise of the camp, and let her mind drift.

Peace.

Shattered, at the sudden sound of hooves, thundering up the road they had left a mere hour ago. Hand on her embroidery, she lifted her eyes to watch, analyze in that split second. Coming too quickly for anything less than an emergency.

The needle slid home, and she set it aside on her pack as she reached for her shield again. Out of the corner of her vision she could see Varric was hastily re-loading his weapon, and she rose to step in front of him, to give him the time. She could hear the camp rallying behind her, but her eyes refused to leave the road, her cursedly poor distance vision making it difficult to see what was coming.

She squinted, but it didn't help.

"It's all right!" She heard Varric shout from behind her, and she loosened her grip on the hilt of her blade, "It's a messenger from Kirkwall!"

"Kirkwall?" She asked, but then relaxed minutely as the rider approached, and she was able to see the livery for herself, slightly fuzzed edges coalescing into recognizable forms. "What on- they must have taken a ship. What could be so important that they couldn't go overland?"

"If it really is urgent, they've probably sent out a few. This is just the lucky one." Varric said as he came up beside her, voice a little grim. "What the hell is going on?"

"Something they think you need be informed about, Varric." Vivienne declared, the woman's calming presence a palpable comfort as she and Bull came to join them.

Evelyn relaxed her grip on her shield, but didn't quite feel ready to give it up. The young man approaching them couldn't have been older than seventeen, still a bit gangly, and trying in vain to grow a beard. He seemed so relieved to see them that it was a wonder no one was on his trail, the horse coming to an abrupt stop as he slid off, wobbling a bit when his boots hit the ground.

"Messere Tethras!" he shouted, fumbling into the pack at his side, yanking open the flap. "I've got- I've got a letter- a message from the Provisional Viscount."

"What's so important that Bran couldn't wait a few weeks?" Varric asked, and then sighed and snatched the letter with his free hand when the messenger offered it to him, slinging Bianca over his shoulder.

"W-w-war, Messere," the boy said, so flustered that her training took over before anything else could be said into the silence following that pronouncement.

"You, lad," she said, calm and quiet, drawing his eyes to hers, "your horse has worked hard. Take him to the quartermaster, both of you get tended to. You have done your duty, now go rest."

"Y-yes, miss," he replied meekly, slumping off with his horse before she had a thought to spare for if she'd correct him or no.

"Kirkwall can't survive a _war_ right now," Varric muttered, ripping open the letter hastily, "What kind of opportunistic..."

When he fell silent, she shared a look with Vivienne, curiously. After a few moments, she shook her head, discreetly. Much as Evelyn was, then. Neither of them knew what this was about. Surprising, she would think that between the two of them they would have heard something. If Josephine hadn't brought it up first, of course, which she would have. It must have been something wholly unexpected.

"Vael," Varric intoned flatly, and she felt her heart turn to ice.

For one of only a few times in her life, her mind was utterly blank, too blank to make the clear connections that she already knew were there. When she snapped to, it was like glass shattering, her eyes focusing in as she breathed in sharply.

"Together, let us right the wrongs visited upon our world," she said, echoing the letter she shamefully knew by heart. The only one she'd managed to get herself to read, because it was diplomatic.

She'd burned the other one.

"He was setting us up, the bastard. Trying to get allies."

It was more, much more than that, but she wasn't going to tell him that now.

"If he does not receive a response in a timely fashion, will he move forward?" she asked, as Varric went back to the letter again, scanning once more.

"No, no. Sebastian isn't- he doesn't want people to die unless he's changed even more than I think he has." Varric offered the letter to her with a jerky movement, face dark. "If he has...well, it doesn't matter. Bran thinks he's gearing up for war, that doesn't mean he is. He might just be feeling us out."

"Then we have time," she declared, keeping her voice calm, lifting her hands to Varric as he turned towards her. "Some small time, at least. Let me read this, and we will absorb this, and then we will decide what we will do."

"Are you sure?" Varric asked her, sounding too tired for hope. "Listen, I realize Kirkwall isn't much of a priority right now."

"When are we going to be closer to the city than this? It's practically straight across the water," she asked, gesturing with a hand. "Varric, we are in the field. That means that my advisors trust me to make the right call. And right now, an extra week or two of traveling to prevent a war is something I consider time well spent."

"Well..." Varric said, still rather grim as he turned away. "Let me know when you're ready to talk. Thanks. I need to go think. And write Aveline."

She opened the letter with a thumb as he paced away, and scanned it slowly. Nothing she wasn't expecting, though Bran sounded a bit frantic over all of it. Silently, she passed it to Vivienne, the woman still standing at her shoulder.

"My dear, this exercise is a waste of your time," Vivienne said mildly, reading over the letter. "I understand Varric's affection for the city, but it is in a terrible state. There is not a great deal there to save. Starkhaven may have the resources to control and rebuild it."

"I understand that, but I feel that we can make this journey one of multiple purposes, to spend our time more wisely," she said, and then smiled at the slight lift of Vivienne's brow. "I am one of those backwater Marchers, Vivienne, I could hardly abandon them now."

"You are the Herald of Andraste," Vivienne corrected, and then sighed when she smiled ruefully. "Do as you must. What is Prince Vael to you?"

"And here I thought I was hiding it so well..." she murmured, accepting the letter back, and gently folding it up. "If I don't tell you, how long will it take you to find out?"

"There are many Orlesians that travel through Starkhaven, my dear." Vivienne told her, and then turned and headed back to the camp as Evelyn laughed tiredly.

Well, she couldn't hide from it forever.

It took her some time to calm her mind, letting all thoughts but the task ahead drift away. She embroidered as she thought, letting her fingers busy themselves to free her minds from the burden of her body. In the end, she had decided, it was _not_ entirely sensible to interfere in this matter.

Starkhaven and Kirkwall combined did not have enough soldiers to help the Inquisition in any notable fashion, though Vael certainly had some. They might both be useful for helping to shore up the area, handle things in the Marches (with her family and the other free cities, of course), and to help rebuild Kirkwall if it could come to that. But the benefit to the Inquisition itself was not terribly high apart from political ramifications.

Still, of course she knew she would do it. Varric was invaluable, and though she knew he would understand, he might not forgive her. Even beyond that, ignoring a war she knew she could stop was not something she would bear. She wondered what Cassandra would think, were she here and not on other duties, but there was not time to send word and wait for response.

Not even to ask permission. No, she would have to gain forgiveness. He'd written so soon after she'd recovered in Haven that she suspected there were spies, but it was more likely that Leliana had let her name out so that people knew she was alive. There had been two personal letters already.

No doubt there were more waiting back in Haven.

When the light grew too poor and her eyes too tired to embroider by firelight, she slid the needle in and folded up the fabric, gently placing it away. Distressing to feel the fine thread catch on the roughness of her fingertips, but that was the price of doing what must be done. No Trevelyan woman had ever had alabaster, soft hands, which was a point of pride, but she had never spent so much time with a blade in her hand before.

"My uncle once spent five hours scrubbing flagstones in the rain because he lost a bet with my aunt Brigid," she declared absently, examining her fingertips, rubbing her thumbs across them. "He said his hands never felt completely clean again. I think I know how he feels."

"Your family do a lot of betting?" Varric asked warily, glancing up from his food, a stack of half-finished letters balanced next to him.

"Only when we know we will win," she said, keeping her voice calm, but unable to help the hint of steel creeping in underneath. "I will stop Sebastian Vael. By myself. No one will die, no one will fight. If he cares so much about the state of Kirkwall, he can do something productive with that concern, not destructive."

Silence for a few moments, the fire crackling loud. Eventually Bull gave a faint 'huh' under his breath and went back to working on his heavy sword, shaking his head.

"You sound awfully sure of yourself," Varric finally replied, sounding a little more relaxed.

"I am," she agreed, saying the words as much for her own benefit as for theirs. "Would you like to bet against me, Varric?"

"Ah, no," he finally decided, something close to hope creeping into his voice, "no I would not. I would like to know how you plan to win, without fighting but..."

"Yes, I have no doubt you would. Find somewhere that is not the city that we can meet, and secure it for us, please." A vast and irritating weariness crept into her voice despite her efforts to tamp it down. "I suppose I will have to write to Prince Vael. Will the provisional Viscount allow him to meet with us outside the city?"

"I'll make sure he's okay with it, as long as he doesn't come with a lot of people and it's not inside the city. I guess the letters didn't want to wait for us," Varric said, and then gave a small snort under his breath. "Well, here's hoping."

Lifting a hand, she rubbed her poor, aching eyes. They would have to strain for a bit longer before she could rest them for the night, it seemed. She had made her choice.

It was time to start dealing with the consequences.

Including _him_.


	2. An Evening's Arrival

The tremor of her hand was ever-present in rest, only activity seemed to quell it.

Difficult to tell if it was getting worse. Closing a rift certainly made it worse, not better, but only briefly. If anything, she would say it was much the same as it had been from the start. The discomfort was less shocking, and therefore could be endured without complaint or crying out.

She was grateful for that.

Evelyn did not realize she had stopped in packing her horse to stare at her hand, until Vivienne gently cleared her throat. Their eyes met as she looked up, Vivienne's assessing. The inspection was endured in polite silence, until it ended in disapproval.

"The apostate Solas should have been brought on this journey," Vivienne told her, delicately censuring, "as he is the only one who has had any success aiding you."

"I scarcely believe it. You, of all people?" she asked, attempting to interject the smallest hint of humor into her voice.

"My dear, we must be practical. Now of all times," Vivienne replied, tilting her head to the side. "Is it the magic that makes you so reluctant?"

"A bit. I- he makes me feel very uncomfortable, with how freely he speaks of things such as spirits, and with how unorthodox his views are," she admitted, rubbing a thumb into her palm slowly. "Josephine seems delighted with his stories, but I suppose I am not that adventurous."

"This seems a bit more than that if you are putting your own life in danger."

"I am a wee bit irrational about it. I was almost sent to the Circle," she admitted, smiling ruefully and shaking her head. "When I was young, my best friend was a cousin of mine. One day we were playing swords outside the byre, and our shouting and fussing disturbed one of the younger cows."

The memory made the smile turn more genuine, but wistful. Not entirely a good memory, that one, but funny now to look back upon. In some aspects, at least.

"She kicked the side of the byre, and it frightened my cousin and she _froze_ the whole side of it. I suppose she was trying to defend herself, instinctively. When she realized what she'd done, she panicked, and ran back to the house, and..." There she trailed off, trying to ignore the sting of betrayal.

They were only children.

"She told them you had done it," Vivienne supplied when she fell silent.

"Yes. She was frightened. I expect even if I had been shipped to the Circle, they would turn around and bring me home, but..." Shaking her head lightly, she blew out a sigh. "I think Dinah underestimated how angry I would be with her. Stormed right across the floor of the chapel where she'd gone to tell and slapped her before anyone could stop me. Threw a bit of a fit when they tried to hold me. By the time the templar that had been called for made it there, she'd shown her magic again."

'Fit' was a mild word for that tantrum, she recognized, a self-righteous, furious attack brought about by her very first taste of betrayal. She hadn't calmed down until they'd fetched her father, and by then she faintly remembered a few destroyed pews, a few bruises and burns, and her cousin's tear-streaked face. She'd been too angry to realize why Dinah was so terrified.

Evelyn had learned, but unfortunately, sympathy changed very little.

"A temper, have we?" Vivienne asked with some amusement in her voice.

"I used to," Evelyn temporized, ignoring the knowing look. "When I was older and I realized how very badly it could have all gone- I realize that magic is a gift from the Maker, but..."

She stared down at her hand, uncurling her fingers to stare at the ever-shifting, unknowable mark etched across her skin. Even now she could feel it, like something twisted in her bone and blood, like roots breaking through earth.

"The idea haunts me yet, and I have a difficult time letting such things go. I felt safe enough, which was shortsighted." She finally said, reluctantly, "I realize now that with this added trip, it was unwise to leave without him."

"You are irreplaceable, my dear, and your safety and the Inquisition's success is more important than your comfort." Vivienne agreed, and then offered a faint smile, "Do try to remember that, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." She agreed quietly, taking the reprimand as intended, and trying not to dwell over it, "Thank you."

"Sometimes we must hear things we already know from someone else in order to accept them." Vivienne told her, turning to go tend to her own horse.

"You two ready?" Varric called over, reminding her of things she had yet to handle. "I'd like to be there before dark so we can get everything settled before the Starkhaven people show."

"Yes. I will be right there," she promised, hands busily slinging the last of her packs onto the horse's saddle.  
A sweet, gentle beast, but a bit too mild for her taste. Perhaps when they had time to go see that horsemaster, she might find a horse at last that hadn't been born to plow fields. Poor thing wasn't meant for these long rides.

Mounting up, she settled her seat, leaving her helm tucked in front of her. Or at least, she did until Vivienne's reminder prodded at her mind. Sighing, she reached for it and pulled it on, tugging the long plait of her braid over her shoulder.

An uncomfortable nuisance, but it must be accepted.

"Varric!" she called as she gently nudged her horse into something slightly more brisk than her usual aimless amble. Luckily he slowed for her, otherwise she never would have caught up despite the smaller size of his beast. "I fear I have another bevvy of questions for you."

"You know, the unvarnished truth goes against my nature, Herald," he groused, though she knew it was only a token complaint. "We all have to make sacrifices, I guess."

"The more I know, the more I can be armed against him," she declared firmly as they set out, the sun barely more than a hand's width above the horizon, sky a shading of night to evening. "Tell me again what he said, when Hawke refused to kill the apostate?"

"His name is Anders," Varric reminded her gruffly, not for the first time.

"I am sorry. A difficult habit to break. Anders, then." Mentally chiding herself to be less stuck in her ways would do very little, but perhaps in time some progress would be made.

Willing her mind to calm and consideration, she listened as Varric told the story for the third time. She had to understand, comprehend fully how it had come to this. How Sebastian Vael had become another man than the one she had known once (or so he claimed), and then changed yet again into a third man that had become the enemy of Kirkwall.

It might be the only way to stop him.

The small estate outside of Kirkwall they had acquired was not unpeopled, but she saw no children upon their arrival. Likely moved elsewhere- a choice she could not disagree with. Still, it made her wonder if there were anywhere they considered safe in the area, or if people were traveling elsewhere in the Marches. Her family had no relatives here.

They did their due diligence with their flustered host, but he seemed to realize that they were road-weary and tired, and withdrew quickly.

"Varric, did many refugees leave Kirkwall?" She asked, letting a servant take her things without a second thought after their host had departed to tend to dinner arrangements, "If so, where did they go?"

"Not a lot, no. Mostly just people in Hightown, there's a few estates standing empty." Varric said, following as they were led down the hall, "And they're with family, I'd assume. Nevarra, Rivain, maybe some being the country cousin in Orlais. People in Darktown don't have anywhere to go, even if they wanted to leave. They're used to having it rough."

"I would like to see the city, I think," she decided, and then added when Bull made a dubious noise, "but I will listen to advice to the contrary."

"There's a first for everything," Varric joked, chuckling at the sidelong look she gave him. "Hey, just saying."

"I'd say I should go look around before you do that, but Kirkwall isn't exactly feeling friendly about the qunari right now," Bull said dryly, rolling his shoulders in a shrug. "I'd probably do more damn harm than good."

"You're not wrong," Varric agreed, the group pausing outside a door obviously opened for her, servant ducking inside. "We've got until tonight. Word is they're about four hours out, probably not going to stop."

"Of course you know. Could you make sure they find me a study? I require space and quiet."

"Sure. Well, we might as well get an hour or two to relax before we have to figure out how to handle this."

"They are arriving late, anything more than a greeting can be delayed until tomorrow," Vivienne pointed out, speaking up at last, "and I, for one, am in dire need of a long bath."

_A bath._

The thought almost made this all bearable. Lifting a hand in silent farewell as they all scattered, she turned into the room that had been prepared for her. This estate was not especially large, but the room she found herself in was surprisingly comfortable.

Evelyn had a sneaking suspicion that the owners of the estate had moved out of their own quarters for her. Well, it would be ungrateful to say anything. Kirkwall wasn't known for a stiff adherence to etiquette, but she knew better than to embarrass people who had made way for them with great speed and understanding.

"A bath, if someone can be found to tend to it?" she requested of the somewhat nervous-looking woman setting out her saddlebags."And a bit of food, but not a meal. Fruit and cheese would be appreciated, if there is any. If not, whatever is available will be sufficient."

The woman ducked her head in obeisance. "Yes, Lady Herald. Do you need help with your dressing? Lady's maid left with her, Lady Herald."

"No, I can handle my armor, thank you." She replied, reaching up for the shoulder of it, fingers finding the buckles by rote. "Just a bath and a small bit of food, and someone to show me where my study is when a room is set aside."

"Yes, Lady Herald," the woman repeated, sounding slightly less timid as she backed out of the room, pulling the door closed.

Alone, she forced aside all thoughts of later to quiet her mind and enjoy this small reprieve. An hour or two, that was all she needed to make herself ready for what was coming. She couldn't even imagine how furious Cullen would be when the messenger she sent to Haven finally arrived. Well, he could scold her for her poor tactics when she returned.

She knew there was absolutely no way this could end up being an ambush. Especially not after what Varric had told her on the way here. Pious, gentle, kind, thoughtful, _chaste_? Sebastian Vael?

No; he could not have changed _that_ much.

She had nothing to fear from Vael, and he had everything to fear from her.

When Prince Vael arrived it was with little fanfare, a servant coming ahead just minutes before to warn them he was coming. They had finished a meal together and had been discussing the meeting to come. There had been some discreet, and not so discreet prying, but her reluctance to share had been respected. If she had hoped to keep her secrets her own, well, this was not the group for it.

Between Iron Bull's casual skill, Vivienne's keen eye and mind, and Varric's connections and charm, she had already resigned herself to being an open book. It wasn't something she wanted to lie about. She had never been a good liar; mother had seen to it.

It just wasn't something she wished to discuss.

They sat at the remnants of their meal in the small library, going through what letters had already been sent to Varric. A massive stack of them, seemingly from every single person in Kirkwall. It must bother him to be so close but still apart, but he hadn't said anything.

When the knock at the door came from a servant, warning and not request, she carefully folded the letter she was reading while everyone else rose. Small, careful movements of her hands, precise and deliberate. Calm.

She must keep herself calm.

The door creaked open, and she waited a few breaths before she began to rise, listening to the heavy thud of boots. It pounded in her chest, like a second, nervous heartbeat. Hands folded together, like mother's. Don't let them see your nerves, don't let your posture falter, don't you dare show anything on your face.

"Choir Boy. I see you finally found a new belt!" Varric called, and she felt her shoulders stiffen, back drawing up straight. "About time."

"Varric." The response came, quite a bit more cold and clipped than she was expecting to hear.

It barely sounded like him. And yet, no titles or formalities.

Letting the mask fall into place, ignoring Vivienne's discreet look, she breathed out and turned slowly to face Sebastian. Varric seemed unflustered by the cool reception, smiling with a feral glint. She could not blame him, now that she knew more of their acquaintance and their antagonism. After all, he threatened Varric's city, his beloved Kirkwall. But in Varric's stories she had found Sebastian's reasoning for this, and now she knew both sides as much as she could from her position.

He was older.

That, in and of itself shouldn't have been a surprise, it'd been fifteen years. They both were.

She felt foolish for that momentary realization, but it was difficult to put it all into context without seeing him in front of her as her vision finally stopped trying to unfocus for fear of meeting his eyes. He was armored, much as she was, unhelmed, uncrowned, the hair that was just a few shades less red than hers pushed back out of his face. He hadn't even bothered with the pretense of wearing a sword, which she should have found amusing, but was too stiff and nervous to appreciate.

He'd never been terribly good with them, which of course he would always claim was because Vael men were archers.

She always thought he just didn't like being beaten by her.

Hard to look into his eyes without seeing them, that crystalline blue her stare unfocused again to avoid, and she drew her chin up and affected the most serene expression she should muster, staring directly between his eyebrows. It kept her from seeing his expression, which was more to be grateful for.

"Lady Herald," he greeted her, with just the slightest crack in his voice.

He never was terribly good at it. Formality had never been the skill he had been known for, after all. Earnestness, yes. Charm. But not political maneuvering. He'd always skipped his lessons. Still, he'd chosen this trial by fire, so obviously he thought he could handle it.

She would be certain to burn him in it.

"Prince Vael," she returned smoothly, pitching her voice to fill the room with a rolling warmth that was entirely artifice, "we are so greatly appreciative of your trusting us enough to meet us."

"In good faith I offered the friendship of Starkhaven to the Inquisition. I could hardly withdraw it now." As she intended, his voice eased, leather creaking as he gave a half bow. He almost sounded...relieved? How bizarre.

"The Inquisition welcomes the friendship of Starkhaven," she said with a suddenly stilted cadence, monotone, and cursed herself internally.

Betrayed by her own heart. There had been a plan, an order to things, and she couldn't even keep control long enough to see it through. Everything froze, denying the warmth she had tried to bring out and manipulate him with. Even Varric was giving her a strange look now, and she could feel the stares sucking the life out of the room.

It was inevitable, it seemed, a conflict, and perhaps it would be better to get it out of the way sooner, rather than later. She knew that she could handle conflict, at least. The audience of people waiting to see what just she was holding back was what made it all so difficult. Damn it, she'd thought she was strong enough for this!

"I am afraid I need a moment to collect my thoughts," she declared abruptly, giving a half bow she knew would kick some instincts into returning it. "Please be welcome and settle yourself, we will speak tomorrow as we agreed."

She rose as he was still inclining his upper body, turning on a heel and stalking off. A simple country home had a layout she could navigate easily even with such a short acquaintance, and she paced the corridors unerringly, slippers sliding sibilantly on stone.

The room that had been set aside for her to work was just off of the minuscule library, and she shut off the other room and its occupants abruptly, shoving closed the heavy wooden door. Quiet, and dark, a lamp casting a glow across the desk waiting for her. She pressed her forehead to the wood between her hands and breathed. In, and out, willing herself to calm.

This time the slight tremble of her fingers was not due to the thrumming of her palm.

When she gathered herself and sank down at the desk, pouring a glass of something she had grabbed blindly, it was very little surprise that the door opened again a mere minute after her. He would, of course, rank the room enough to withdraw without offense, and he wasn't one to hide from a disagreement. Or from her.

Then again, she doubted if he even cared that he ranked the room.

He never had before.

Again, her eyes avoided him of their own volition as she poured a goblet of what turned out to be wine, listening to him sigh and close the door securely again. She could handle him, there was no reason to work herself up. It was only Sebastian, after all.

"Evelyn," he said simply, and she listened to him pulling off his gloves, first the creak of leather, then the jangle of chainmail.

"Your familiarity is unwelcome. I have nothing to say to you in private, Prince Vael," she responded, feeling the comfortably cool control sliding back into place with no need for to play at welcome, "for there is only the Herald here, you look in vain."

"I only want to apologize in person, properly." He said it so earnestly that she almost believed he meant it. Not that she believed he was sorry, but that he thought he was. "I will respect your wishes, I will respect you. I promise you. I don't expect you to believe that I am a changed man. I thought- you never responded to any of my letters, so I thought you might be angry, despite-"

"I am," she interrupted simply, setting the bottle down among the papers, "and I cannot. I am not a forgiving woman."

"And if I am in any small part the cause for that, I am all the sorrier still. I do hope it extends only to me," Sebastian said, and she felt a sudden surge of anger. "The Maker has-"

"Do. Not. Preach to me, Sebastian," Evelyn snapped, lifting her gaze to his, staring down crystalline blue with all the ferocity in her, sharpening her anger to a steely edge. She lifted her hand, palm out, and raised a single stalling and accusing finger. "If this is the Maker's gift, do not presume to tell me how to wield it. I do what must be done."

If she was expecting him to draw back or be intimidated, she was mistaken. His posture only relaxed, face losing its stern lines in a remorseful softness as he stared at the green mark on her hand. His focus became uncomfortable, and she curled her hand and dropped it limply to the desk, knuckles thumping against the wood.

"Yes, we do what must be done, as the Maker guides us. I am so sorry you have been given this burden, but I know that if anyone can bear it, it is you," he agreed, and for a moment she could feel the weight on resting him as his voice slowed, sobered. "Evelyn, the letters were entirely-"

"Your newfound humility does not move me, Sebastian. Do you really want to have this conversation? Now? Here?"

"I thought that I could make things right," he said, simple honesty in his voice, hands clasping together around his gloves and squeezing, "do things the way they are supposed to be done. I was so relieved when I heard you were alive, Evie. The apology I sent-"

"I wonder that you remember what you were apologizing for, drunkard."

He only sighed, and didn't flinch as she expected at the accusation.

Tightening her lips at his lack of expressive remorse, anger only growing the worse, she admitted with absolutely no politics, "I have not read a single letter written to me in your hand, and I never will."

"It was wrong to speak to your father, before I had attempted to make things right with you. I apologize for that, it was a mistake. There have been a great many things I have had to worry about in Starkhaven, and I did not handle that as sensitively as I should have. I only thought-"

"Well. On that, at least, we can agree. Speaking to my father was a mistake, one we both will have to live with." Evelyn shook her head and lifted the wine, cradling both hands around it until her fingers stilled. Shaking nervously or hungry to throttle, she wasn't certain. Both, perhaps. "Sebastian, take your sudden piety and your apologies and leave me be, please."

He inclined his head to her silently, and then drew himself up and turned for the door. She had only just begun to think of relaxing when he glanced over his shoulder. This time she met his stare again, keeping hers hard, and saw his own expression turn stern in response.

"The man responsible for all of this strife will be punished, Ev- Herald. On this I will not back down. I will find Anders, and I will not stand for anyone in that city hiding him from me."

"I am saddened to see how vengeful you have become," she replied quietly, more to bite at him than out of any real remorse.  
She could see the moment the words sunk home, the hard facade growing all the more stony. She didn't let her own expression change, maintaining the facade that she knew so well. Serenity and calm, as mother had always told her, was as much a shield as the one on her arm.

"Justice must be done," he said, coldly.

"I see no justice in extending a blade to the throat of a beleaguered city," she said, keeping her voice smooth and cool, "I see warmongering and opportunistic self-righteousness. Perhaps instead of trying to kill the apostate, you should be learning from him."

That got through, as she expected it might from her talk with Varric. She almost felt petty for the pleasure it roused, but then again, knew herself well enough to know that she may have had a tendency to be indulgently petty.

This pettiness, though, she had earned.

He spun back towards her, stepped closer in a reflex that was anger but not a threat. " _Learning_ from him?"

Evelyn smiled cooly, hands folding together like her mother. "Yes. The line between justice and vengeance seems a very fine thing, and hinges so often purely on intent. Your surety of purpose is a double edged sword, Prince Vael."

"My purpose keeps my path from faltering, and my heart strong," he replied staunchly, rage fading to a softer, calmer expression. "I am only a man, but I cannot believe it is the Maker's will that a murderer of innocents walks free."

"You do not know the Maker's will, nor do I, and I certainly hope you do not come here attempting to ascribe your actions to it," she snapped, losing her temper again. Why was it so easy for her to do so in his presence? She should be stronger than this. "If so, then you are unworthy of both your crown, and the loyalty of your people."

Silence in the room, but again she had a feeling she hadn't upset him as much as she'd been hoping to. His eyes were softened, face slack and then firming up again as he lowered his chin, hands folded around his gloves. It was as if he was listening to her, not simply hearing her, but thinking about what she said. It wasn't what she had expected. It should have given her hope that he might change his mind after all.

At the moment, though, she was just annoyed she couldn't make him angry for more than a second.

"I stand reprimanded." His expression gentled, eyes softening at the corners. "Evie, can we do away with this, please? We need to discuss-"

"No, this is all that there is between us," she replied, glancing away from his face, chin lifting as she declared as icily as she could manage, lifting a hand in dismissal. "Your purported regret does not move me. Remove yourself from my presence, Prince Vael."

She kept her expression completely blank until she heard the door swing closed, and then she scowled, slumping back in her seat. Sulking was utterly unladylike, and it wouldn't even do much good, but for a minute or two, she indulged in it anyways. Crossing her arms under her chest, she glared at the door with all the venom that politics denied her, kicking a leg of the desk.

"Arse," she told the closed door, and then sighed and went back to the few letters that had been sent to her.

Being a child about it wouldn't solve anything.

Children were fools.


	3. Unforseen Consequences

“What did you do?”

The study door creaked open, Varric's accusing look that followed his voice squinting one eye. Evelyn met it, keeping her expression calm and placid. The wine helped, but it also made her tongue looser. She'd have to keep a tight rein on herself. At his question, she merely shook her head slowly, rather than answer it.

Bickering with Prince Vael like a child wasn't something she wanted to admit to.

"You're not going to tell me what that was all about?" Varric asked her, and then sighed at the minute shake of her head. "Well, suit yourself, but if it's going to interfere with this, I'm going to have a problem."

"I made you a promise, and I'm keeping it. I understand how he became so uncompromising about this," she said, irritation gently throttled back as she lifted her wine, "but this isn't like him."

"Funny, he said the same thing about you when he walked out of here," Varric said cagily, and then sighed again as she glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. "No, you're right. Even after Hawke helped him settle things, he wasn't like this. He was irritatingly nice, if sheltered and preachy. And that's me being diplomatic."

"And then the chantry was destroyed," she said gesturing to the bottle as Varric paced over to get a goblet from the table near the door. This was all they'd given her. Wine would have to do, in moderation.

"Yeah. The chantry blew." Varric said, voice going dark for a moment, "Grand Cleric Elthina meant a lot to him. We've been over this a few times now, mind if we stop retreading?"

"Of course," she said quietly, leaning forward to fill his cup.

The quiet trickle of the dark scarlet wine spilling was the only sound for a few moments. When she pulled back, Varric slumped into the nearest chair, giving her a critical, searching look. She smiled, a grimace and not a genuine expression, tapping fingers on the side of the bottle as it clunked on the desk.

"He seemed spooked when he came out. What did you say to him?"

"Not what he wanted to hear, but hopefully the thing he needed to." She set the bottle aside, rather than take another cup. If Varric was determined to needle her, she needed to be sharp.

"So do you like each other, or- I really can't figure it out. I mean, you know each other. That's pretty obvious."

"I cannot speak for him, of course, but no, I hate him."

"Well, then, I feel sorry for him," Varric said, and lifted his goblet to her in salute.

After a moment, she lifted her own with a smile that was not quite so tense. Empty, but he didn't need to know that. She should have Leliana get her some fake wine when they returned to Haven. She was tired of having it pressed on her when it made her so miserable.

Something to be remembered.

“So how long do you think it will take before our new mercenary feels the same? I've been thinking of asking him to spar,” she said, reaching for a stack of letters and thumbing open the new one from the provisional Viscount. It wasn't something she minded reading in front of Varric, he probably already knew what it contained, or- “Varric, this is your handwriting.”

“I told him what I told you he was telling you. I'm just saving a trip for the messenger, that's all. I don't know, the guy seems like he gets what's going on. If 'The Iron Bull'- great name, by the way- if he underestimates you, then he's not as sharp as I had him pegged.”

“It is an excellent name. As much as I value all of you, it feels comforting to have his people along. I'm trying to keep my hands as clean as possible.” At Varric's raised eyebrow, she sighed heavily. “Not of combat. I think I've proven I'm not afraid of it? Arse deep in demons ring a bell? I meant the other things. Leliana type of things.”

“War's dirty, Herald, and we've got a lot of them brewing right now.”

“As delighted as I am to be a useful figurehead and not a bloody statue prancing along at the head of an army, Varric, I'm still a figurehead and I need to be as free of reproach as I can manage. This is politics. Unlike most of my brothers who had the leisure of being vestigial, I was raised to rule.”

“You know what I learned from Hawke? If they want to be pissed at you, they're gonna find a reason, Herald. You could save the whole damn world, and people are still gonna find a way to curse your name.”

“I've had better encouragement in my life,” she said, reaching for the bottle again and pouring herself a generous glass. Maybe she'd earned it after all. Maybe this would be a three-glass wine and not a two, she never knew until it was too late. “But I'm sure I'll be grateful for the reminder eventually.”

“Sorry,” Varric said, chagrined.

“No, it's honest. Please don't apologize for honesty. Now that I understand the Kirkwall situation, it makes sense. I'm just raw right now.” She swirled the wine in the glass, staring at the glints across the surface from the low lights. “Where is Vael?”

“Praying, probably.”

“At least then I can avoid him for the rest of the night. Stop staring at me like that,” she ordered.

“Everyone's gonna find out sooner or later. I couldn't have written a scene with more tension than that. I've never seen you crack like that before.”

“Oh, Vivienne already knows. I saw those letters waiting for her, I know she knows. At least she knows as much as anyone in the Marches knows. Which is everyone because he's an arse and I _hate_ him and I received the announcement in a packet from Leliana.” There went the wine.

“Which is...” Varric trailed off significantly.

There was no way out of it. The bloody announcements had gone out, and her refusing to read it hadn't changed that, which meant she couldn't fix this without having to deal with it and there was a hole in the bloody sky. And now all hope of not losing her temper over it was gone. Might as well get it out there.

As much as she hated it, it could be of use right now.

“I will tell you, if you promise me one single thing.”

“What?”

“Stop calling me Herald in private. I accept the will of the Maker, but I'm still a person, Varric.” Meeting his eyes, she forced another smile, forehead furrowing. She _liked_ him. That was, in the end, the reason she was really here. Cullen would hate this, it didn't make political sense, but she was here for Varric.

It would be nice if one day they could be friendly.

He grimaced, giving a small nod of his head. “I'll give it a shot. Sorry, Evelyn.”

“Thank you,” she lifted her wine for a sip, feeling his expectant stare. She had made a promise too, it just irked her to say the words out loud. As if she was giving them any credence at all. “Prince Vael, is, to me...”

When she faltered, Varric lifted his eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“He is my betrothed.”

In the silence that followed her pronouncement, she drained her wine.

The second glass was a mistake after all; she woke up with a headache.

And a vendetta.

Head pounding, Evelyn despaired over her options, fingers pressing into her forehead.

The Lady of this estate was far, far taller than her, and slender in a way that a woman who spent as much time as she swinging a shield and sword around simply could not be. Yes, she could refuse to come out until she'd sent someone to find her something suitable that fit, but that was a selfishness she could not condone in current circumstances. So, it was either put on her single dress she'd sneaked into her things and had already worn last night, try to put on a dress that would puddle on the ground and rip out at the arms and back, or put her armor back on.

Ugh, the armor.

Lifting fingers to her temples, she massaged in slow circles, willing the sharp aching at the front of her forehead to go away. Why she had inherited mother's inability to drink wine, she didn't know, but it was an endless source of frustration when a mere two glasses would incapacitate her and turn her face bright red to boot.

“Maker, I would kill a dozen demons for a good March whisky.”

But no one would serve the Herald a bloody whisky, oh no.

It was always wine she was handed, and then she drank too much of it because it was either that or deal with the fact that both her life and the entire world had imploded. Tea could only do so much. Her life was a misery and people kept making her wear armor and she hated it so much.

The curtains were drawn, muffling out the light, but she knew that the instant she left this room she'd be assaulted by sunshine.

She'd been a fool to give herself a wine headache when she knew she had to deal with Sebastian.

There was nothing for it. It was undignified, inappropriate, and she should have sent someone to find her a dress, but when one weighed the options martial attire was more appropriate for political negotiations than being seen in the same dress two days in a row. The leather pants, boots, and arming doublet would have to do.

“Just a quick trip to the Storm Coast, that's all,” she muttered sarcastically, jerking the leather straps of the doublet closed and buckling them securely over her underthings. “Not a giant diplomatic mission to keep a city from being overthrown, oh no. Just a quick trip to meet some mercenaries on a bloody plow horse that's never met a canter it can't. Idiot, Evelyn. Idiot! You're the leader of a bloody army, you couldn't pack more than one dress?”

The nasty monologue cleared some of the bile, but did nothing for the headache.

Buckling on the pants and stomping into the boots was performed without any more complaining, as she tried to clear her aching mind. There was work to be done, and she must be calm. Carefully brushing out her hair, staring at her slightly warped face in the tarnished mirror, the little ache of homesickness made itself felt again. Even though she was grown, mother would still come and brush her hair every now and again.

It was so impractical out here, the big mess of ruddy red-brown waves that tumbled down past her knees when left free, but she couldn't bring herself to cut it. As she brushed, she rolled the strands over in her fingers, twisting them lightly. She needed her impracticalities, her needlework and hair, her dresses when she could wear them. They made her still feel human.

“Don't forget, you're Dierdre Trevelyan's daughter,” she informed her reflection, before succumbing and braiding up her hair to keep it out of the way.

Once it was neatly clubbed at the back of her neck, she ran out of ways to delay. Pushing out into the hall, the sun assaulted her, sending a piercing pain through the front of her forehead, from side to side. Wincing, cradling a hand over her bad eyes, she stumbled up the hall. Focusing on keeping her feet, she didn't realize she was about to run into someone until a hand caught her elbow.

Her mumbled apology got the hand to release her, and chagrin rose as a very familiar brogue assured her, “I'll get you a cup of tea, Evie.”

Shock faded to irritation as his footsteps faded, and she hazarded a glance up to watch his back retreat. Irritation then turned to a cold, hard anger in her stomach, steeling her despite the pain. Pain to her head could be borne, but not injury to her pride. Rather than bristling, she tamped it down and lifted her chin, following with a tight clench of her jaw.

Had he been waiting for her?

Trying to ambush her again, no doubt, with whatever placating nonsense he had prayed for. Well, more the fool he. She would not be placated, and she would not be pitied. Sebastian Vael could be fed feet-first to Darkspawn for all she cared. He could go to the Void.

As long as Kirkwall was safe.

The dining room where they had first met was set for breakfast, but luckily her hangover was not one of excess. Her stomach was steady, it was only her head that punished her. The scent of ham and eggs was welcome, grease would help with the headache as much as the tea would. Unfortunately, the answer to both of those was 'only a little', but she'd take what she could get right now.

Sinking into a seat, she returned to massaging her temples, blinded and unaware of who was witnessing her. Right now she didn't care, the worst person had witnessed and it was too late. Dignity was mustered as much as possible, which was mere dregs at the moment.

“My dear, are you all right?”

“I will be fine,” she assured, taking the tea with murmured thanks as it was set next to her because it was polite, and not because she felt thankful.

“Do you still take your toast plain?”

“Yes,” she said, rather than snap at Sebastian in front of Vivienne. The mildly curious stare fixed on her from across the table was joined by a gently arched eyebrow as she lifted her head at last, cradling the tea in both hands to absorb the warmth of the delicate cup. “Trevelyan curse, I'm afraid. Though it comes from my mother, so perhaps I should say Aurum family curse. Two glasses of wine can do this to me. My twin is the same.”

“How unfortunate.”

“I should know better, I really should. You say you don't want liquor and everyone understands, but turn down wine and suddenly you're an oddity. No one ever fusses at Max for saying no to wine.” She sipped at the tea, grateful it was black and strong, eyes closing. “I did it to myself, I'll be quite fine.”

“Did you momentarily forget what it did to you?”

The amusement and slight censure both she deserved, but the smile wasn't condescending at least. She shook her head very carefully at Vivienne, and then tilted her head when a plate of breakfast was set next to her. This time, her 'thank you' was more grudging on the inside, but more gracious on the outside. The nod did hurt.

“I did not forget, no, but I asked for whisky and they gave me wine, one presumes because either they didn't have any, or yet again someone has decided for me what I do or do not want. By the time I noticed I didn't feel like summoning anyone to correct it.”

She set the tea aside and pulled the plate in, shoveling eggs onto the slice of toasted bread that dripped butter onto her plate. Normally she wouldn't eat so much, but who knew what the rest of the day would hold. Hopefully once she felt up to dealing with the irritation that was for _some_ reason dancing attendance on her, they could settle this quickly.

“Prince Vael, have you forgotten how to sit down?”

He paused out of the corner of her blurred vision, and then laughed, head dropping forward. The wooden mug of water that was sat down next to her teacup got yet another thanks despite not having asked for it, and he finally sat down. An empty seat between them, which she resented. Not because she didn't want it there, because she did, but because he was being so thoughtful it rankled.

Picking up the water, she resisted the urge to throw it in his face.

Not in public.

Someone being kind to you when you hated them and couldn't say a thing about it was a particularly grueling sort of torture. She drank the water. It was not enjoyed.

“It's so kind of you to look after your fiancee, despite the unfortunate circumstances,” Vivienne remarked smoothly, a test she had already prepared her for.

The wince was all internal, Evelyn channeling her mother and letting the distractions of simmering grudge and piercing headache fall to the wayside. Cool, calm, uncracked porcelain on the outside. She took a bite of toast, and pretended it was his jugular. The mental image helped.

Bleed all over the pristine armor.

“We find ourselves in unfortunate times, the least we can do is look after one another,” Sebastian said with a small nod of his head. “Now is hardly the time for the business of betrothals, though. Bad timing there, I wouldn't have sent out the announcement a day later.”

“Well, yes, because a day later I would have been supposed _dead_ ,” Evelyn said, and then sighed and broke off another bite of toast with her fingers. No, she couldn't let her voice get sharp. “This discussion is one best left for a time when other, more pressing matters have been dealt with.”

“Aye.”

“Did you not sleep well, Prince Vael?” Vivienne asked solicitously. “I hope the accommodations were acceptable.”

Evie finally looked at him, noting the dark circles under his eyes. His smile was easy, though, and when he noticed her looking at him, it warmed. She fought the urge to glare at him and turned back to her tea before it grew cold. He shouldn't be allowed to look at her like that.

Not while she was thinking of all the ways she'd like to kill him.

“I spent the night in prayer, Madame de Fer, but thank you for your concerns. The room was perfect.”

“We were discussing the admirable piousness of the Free Marches just the other day,” Vivienne said, “in regards to the situation in Ferelden. Have you been keeping abreast?”

“Yes, as much as we can with everything that's going on. I get reports,” Sebastian said, fork clicking on his plate. “I hope Angus isn't out that way?”

“No, my brother's in Tantervale still,” Evelyn said after she swallowed, reaching for the tea again. Finding it empty, she set it back down with a soft clink. When Sebastian immediately rose, she bit back a twitch. He was being utterly insufferable. Pettiness rose, and she smiled faintly at Vivienne, latching onto the current polite conversation as a way to get out of some of this mire of misunderstanding she hadn't wanted to be forced to clarify. “I was actually considering joining him a few months back. The Chantry in Tantervale is highly respected.”

“You, dear, in the Chantry? As a sister?”

“My family is very pious, that's why I was at the conclave,” she said with a small smile, tilting her head towards Sebastian as he refilled her cup. “It was high time I made a choice, but in the end I decided I would be better served by telling my father he could go ahead and choose a husband he liked for me, since I hadn't found one worth my interest. I was lucky to have been given the chance, my mother's insistence.”

Vivienne's expression didn't change, apart from a very slight arch of her brow, but Sebastian had gone very still in the corner of her vision. The sound of tea pouring stopped, and seconds passed. Vivienne's eyebrow lifted very slightly higher, an admirably delicate bit of nuance.

The tea resumed pouring, and the cup was sat down in its saucer a bit more heavily than necessary.

“That wasn't mentioned in the letters I had from your father.”

“Oh, Sebastian, I wasn't at home,” she replied pleasantly, self-satisfaction rising as she picked up her cup of tea. “I received your first letter and then I had to leave for the conclave. Let's not talk about this now.”

“The one you didn't read.”

“The one I didn't read,” she agreed breezily, keeping up the pretense of civility as he finally gave her what she wanted. It was so much more pleasant to be the one in control while other people lost theirs.

“I thought that you had read it, considering your father said you'd accepted my suit. Told me there was no need to even court.”

“Sebastian, we're in company,” she chided him, with a gracious smile and a tilt of her head. She glanced at him, and his expression was blank. If there was anger there she would have felt better, but instead he just looked puzzled. And then his forehead furrowed, and he actually seemed...hurt.

Really?

“You didn't say yes to me. Your father did.”

“I told him he could find someone suitable. Who could be more suitable than the Prince of Starkhaven?” she reminded him, turning away so she wouldn't have to see the expression in his eyes. “Obviously you felt in a bit of a rush, otherwise you would have taken the time to find all of this out, so what does it really matter? Really, is this the time for this?”

“I understood that you might have felt pressured, since you're obviously angry with me, but at least I knew you'd said yes. I thought we could talk about it, Evie.” Distress in his voice now, genuine distress, and her pettiness started to feel a bit like there might be guilt underneath it. She squashed it down.

This was no time for guilt.

“This isn't appropriate, Sebastian.”

“Then we'll go speak privately.”

“It's breakfast time,” she reminded him, scooping more eggs onto her toast. “And thus, I am eating my breakfast you were so kind to get for me.”

When he rose and abruptly left the room with only the barest of etiquette, she smiled to herself. There was no point hiding the sheer pettiness of it, because Vivienne could see through it quite clearly. Silence from the other side of the table, the soft clink of a spoon in a teacup. It was set on the saucer, and Vivienne shook her head very slightly.

“That was ruthless.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn replied smoothly, despite the fact that it wasn't precisely a compliment. “I did tell him it wasn't the time.”

“Yes,” Vivienne said, lifting her tea, “I noticed. It could have waited until after the negotiations, however, my dear. Couldn't it have?”

“Oops.”

The headache was gone by the time they convened to discuss the Kirkwall situation.

Prince Vael's men had been noticeably absent the entire time, only the man himself infringing on them. It should have inspired a sort of trust, but unfortunately the negotiations were already tainted by their shared past; a past she would not speak of. In his defense, he had waited until after breakfast to corner her, but she'd avoided him. Now was the time for business, not displeasure.

“Kirkwall is recovering. We're doing our best and everything's going to shit right now. You went through everything we went through. After everything Hawke did for you, you'd do this to her?”

“Do you really need to make this personal right now, Varric?”

“There is nothing impersonal about this. _Nothing_. I'm not gonna sit here and lie to myself, or you about that.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe this is what's best for the city? If you stood down and let me help-”

“Best? That you start a war. Yeah, sure.” The sarcasm in Varric's voice was harsh. “Sure. Why don't we solve everything with killing innocent people. That's working out real great for Thedas right about now.”

Evelyn stared at Sebastian's face, noting the instant it sunk in. After their conversation last night and his overnight contemplations, she was hoping it might have had an impact. Which was why she'd told Varric to lean on it, of course.

“What about the innocent people who have already died, and who would if I did nothing? It was my home as well! I still care for Kirkwall, and for the memory of those who I lost, I wish to aid.”

“They're already dead, and you're looking to murder on a maybe. You could be helping instead of making this worse, but you're choosing not to because you think that we can't be trusted with our own city. You know Kirkwall, and I know your view's been tainted, but you can't forget every good piece because of the bad.”

“There is a great deal of evil going on in the world right now, and this will make you look like an opportunistic warmonger, not a savior,” Evelyn interjected quietly, hands folded together. “Kirkwall won't stand down, we all know that. It will _have_ to be through violence.”

“I serve the Maker and my people, not my pride,” Sebastian replied, irritatingly calm again as he seemed to every time she spoke. “Kirkwall cannot be trusted to lead its people, that has been proven. The innocent _must_ be protected.”

“It will change how you and your people are treated, Sebastian. Feel free to scorn the opinion of others, but people will suffer for it,” she retorted, and he dropped his eyes, frowning at the table. “If you really believe that this has nothing to do with your pride, then you will admit you're wrong. If you wanted to help people, there are other ways. We will give you ways to help Kirkwall if you trust in us, trust in the Inquisition.”

“It's true,” Varric said with a shrug, “you want to help, this isn't the way to go about it. You want suggestions? I could give some, Prince Vael.”

The deliberate use of his title brought a small smile to Sebastian's lips, chagrined. “From you that sounds like an insult, Varric. I agree, circumstances have changed, and with it so should I. I prayed long and hard over it, and I've decided to pledge myself and my aid to the Inquisition instead. Were it anyone else at the head I wouldn't, but I trust Evelyn. I know she's no heretic.”

“Wait, what? You made us sit through all of this, and-”

“I still wanted to discuss it,” Sebastian said, smile not fading at Varric's hard look. “If this is where the Maker has brought me, then I am meant to be here. If not for Kirkwall, then for the Inquisition. I am a man of faith, that hasn't changed because I took the throne of Starkhaven. I kept my promise, Varric, I did it without sacrificing my people.”

“The soldiers will be welcome,” Evelyn said, trying desperately to remember what Starkhaven could put on the field. It still wasn't many, but it was something. Surely they needed some to deal with matters in their own borders, but...

“I didn't mean my men, though if you need them you'll have them, Evie. I meant me.”

Her calculations stopped, dead, and so did her heart. Freezing in place, she could feel her composure cracking. Hand lifting, she felt the words coming of their own volition before she swallowed them back. No, she wouldn't lose her temper, not in front of everyone.

This was politics.

“Madame, Messere, …Bull. Could you give us a moment? _Please_.”

There might be eavesdropping, but that she couldn't control. She waited as they filed out, closed the door, staring at him with her eyes unfocused as her mind twisted up in knots. Her composure lasted until he sighed, and then it finally snapped.

“Evie-”

He managed to duck the teacup as it went flying past his head, but not the cooled tea, which spattered across white leather. Sebastian rose as she shot to her feet, his hands up, the tinkling crack of shattering porcelain loud. Fury rose, righteous and white-hot.

How dare he!

“You will _not_! You will not trap me like this, Sebastian! You will not! I am not going to be forced to-to-” Too loud, she was being too loud, but she couldn't stop the words if she'd wanted to.

He didn't try to duck the saucer, but it bounced off his chest and fell to the table with a clatter. “I'm not trying to _trap_ you, Evelyn! I understand if you cannot forgive me. I am being earnest, I am being honest with you. I truly believe I am here because I need to help you, that the Maker brought me to-”

“Shut up,” she snapped, hand slapping on the table, finding nothing else to throw. “ _Shut up_. If the bloody Maker's brought you to me it's to punish me.”

“Evie,” he said reprovingly.

“Why don't you take that bloody bow, unstring it, and shove it up your-”

“Evie!”

Her words left her, and she vented her ire in a strangled scream, hands thrown up towards the ceiling as she turned and paced away. This was intolerable! And of course Varric would hold her to her promise, despite this being the utter worst iteration of it possible. All right, yes, there could be another war and that would be worse, but this was the worst iteration for _her._

And she knew she was backed into a corner, she knew that she was going to say yes. She knew. She knew!

There was only one way this ended and she despised it so intensely that she was on the verge of launching herself across the room and rearranging Sebastian Vael's pretty patrician nose with her fist.

“Would it make you feel better if I broke our engagement?”

“How? How would that make anything better right now?!” she spat, turning on him and jabbing a finger across the room at him, down the length of the scarred table. “Insult my bloody family by breaking our betrothal and then go follow me around as I wade arse deep in demons? You rank me several times over, Sebastian! Everyone's going to think you've broken it because you're getting the milk for free!”

“Evie! Don't speak about yourself like that!”

Oh, that was what he got angry about?

The _gall_.

“I'll speak about myself any way I damn well like. Right now it makes sense, _because_ we're engaged. Ach, if only you hadn't sent out that bloody announcement so quickly.”

“They've been bothering me about finding a wife for ages, Evie, but you were right, I should have met with you face to face. I thought at least this way I would be making things right, and we would have time. I missed you, and Max. I went home, but everyone was gone, and I'd ruined my real friendships so long ago-”

“I will not be made to feel sorry for you,” she interrupted, before the sudden surge of sorrow could grow any higher. She wanted to be angry at him, she'd been angry at him for so long and she wasn't going to give up now. “Not you, Sebastian. Not you.”

“I don't want your pity, Evie. I just want to help. When I thought you'd died, it killed me. I promised myself I would make it right when I heard you had survived.”

“You can't,” she denied, pushing aside the rage, letting it drain from her. Give her back her composure, her control. “You simply cannot, Sebastian. There is no making it right between us. But the world needs righting right now, and that is far more important.”

“Then let me do my part in that, and help protect the Herald of Andraste.”

His face was so earnest that she almost believed him. But that was her flaw, she'd always believed him even when he was a liar. How could she trust him now just because of some pretty words and pretend piety? He'd always been good at pretty words.

To turn him away would break her promise to Varric.

“Prove your sincerity, then. If you wish to help Kirkwall, send them the aid that Varric says they need, not what your anger and desire for vengeance demand. And if you wish to aid the Inquisition...” She paused, forcing her face blank. There was no reason she would have to spend any time in his company. Josephine could doubtlessly find a use for the Prince of Starkhaven.

“I'm sure there are latrines that need digging.”

“If that's what you need of me, Evie.”

_Damn him._


	4. Necessary Arrangements

There was so much to do on the road, so much that needed planning, but it was less than Sebastian had feared.

The past three years had been busy, noisy, chaotic. Somewhere in all of the constant toil, it seemed he had managed to get things sorted. He had done what he could to make himself a suitable Prince, but whatever skill he wielded had not come from his youth, but his time in the Chantry. Patience, faith, charity- things he had been taught that had culminated in him accepting that he could do more for the world if he returned home and took his throne before his cousin destroyed Starkhaven.

All the counsel that had led Goran astray had been turned away with as little violence as possible, assassins tracked and disposed of and their patrons dealt with, people who had been subverted led back to the path of righteousness. There would be no coup in his absence. Goran had seen the wisdom in turning his life over to the Chantry. Hopefully it would do some good for him, much as it had Sebastian.

The fact that he had made concessions to the Chantry to ensure they would keep him there, well, that was the unpleasant business of politics.

Lord Kenric was the man he trusted above all things, his loyalty to the rightful rulers had never wavered, though the frivolity of some of his concerns were frustrating. Frivolity was not exactly an unknown vice in Starkhaven, it was a rich city with an excellent trade route. He'd succumbed to it himself far too thoroughly in his youth to ever judge one for a harmless devotion to the whims of 'fashion'.

He wasn't about to tell Evelyn that he'd been convinced to let the city mourn her. They'd only been betrothed for a week- a week she hadn't even known about. The fact that they discovered she had been at the conclave a day after he put out the announcements was a bit of bad luck that was apparently even worse than he'd realized.

She hadn't said yes.

Knowing now that she still hated him felt more like Evelyn, but also worrisome.

She bore so much on her shoulders now that he would have liked to be her friend, to ease some of that burden.

The last couple of months had been whiplash. First his apology had been met with silence, but not the suit that followed. That made him think her parents had pressured her, or she was being sensible but wasn't ready to forgive him, both things they could discuss, work through. He'd made the announcement, and suddenly she was dead, and then she wasn't dead, but someone being called the Herald of Andraste- something that would make an ordinary person a heretic. But she wasn't an ordinary person, she was a Lady Trevelyan.

A sensible, no-nonsense, strong, pious family not given to such delusions.

It was why when he'd been the third son of Vael and she'd been the only daughter of Trevelyan it'd been an excellent match they were being nudged towards. Now it was less of an equal match, but still a strong one. Strong enough for the nobility of Starkhaven to overlook that they'd been pushing wives at least a decade younger on him.

Everything else could have been worked through except for the fact that she _hadn't_ said yes.

She was absolutely right, he shouldn't have rushed the suit to her father; it was only that he'd put it off for three years, and he couldn't wait any longer. Stability had been achieved, now he had to look to the future. Unfortunately, the cataclysm they faced meant that he wasn't able to catch back up on the missing parts of it all so easily.

“You're going to run that horse into a tree,” Varric said dryly, pulling him from his contemplation of the paper in his hand.

“She knows where she's going.” Still, he folded up the paper, glancing ahead to make sure the sleek white mare was still following the line. Evelyn was second from the front, dictating a slower pace than he'd expected. She seemed to have issues with her horse.

Surprising for her, she'd practically been born in the saddle.

“You've been staring at that same letter since you got it this morning.”

“I cannot believe I forgot how thoroughly you go noticing things, Varric. I've spent the last three years ensuring this transition went so smoothly that people wouldn't even consider another coup; I don't want that to happen to my family in twenty years or so.”

“Understandable,” Varric said, more wary than friendly, but listening all the same. “I don't think anyone in the Marches really wants an unstable Starkhaven right about now. I was surprised you had enough pressure on you that you felt you had to put the boot on Kirkwall's neck, you seemed like you actually had things well in hand finally.”

The phrasing was both unpleasant and inaccurate, but Varric's feelings were entirely understandable. He couldn't be helpful and productive if they were fighting. Evelyn wouldn't stand for it. Deferring to Varric's expertise on their short trip to Kirkwall to survey what needed handling hadn't helped, but Sebastian was at peace with that.

Evelyn was allowing him to stay, that was what mattered.

He and Varric would work things through, or they wouldn't.

“Kirkwall is our strongest trading partner, despite Orlais' interference.”

“So they wanted you to do something about it. Well, that sounds more accurate than 'saving innocents'.”

“Those were still _my_ motivations, Varric. It just happens that aiding Kirkwall was acceptable to the rest of my people because of the practical concerns.”

Varric snorted. “Huh. Right. So what's the letter?”

“I don't have an heir and I'm running off to fight demons,” Sebastian replied, folding up the letter with his thumb and tucking it into the pouch on his belt. “Naming someone in Starkhaven could be dangerous for me.”

“You could always go home.”

“And I'm going to give you the same answer to that as I did when you told me I should stop following Hawke and return to Starkhaven. I left when the Maker showed me it was my time, and it was the right time, Varric. If I had gone earlier, Goran's incompetence wouldn't have been so obvious.”

“And then you would have had to fight more than you did,” Varric finished, head shaking. “But do you really think the Maker wants you to abandon Starkhaven right now?”

“I think that saving the world also means saving Starkhaven. At any rate, luckily Evelyn and I are related, so-”

“Wait, what?”

“Her paternal grandmother was a Vael. My grandfather's second cousin.”

“Okay, you had me worried for a second there.”

“So I'm trying to decide how to approach her to tell her I'm naming her brother my heir.”

“You're shitting me.” Varric stared at him until his thigh bumped into the side of the mare Sebastian rode. Shaking his head, he turned his attention back to the road, getting control of his animal again. “Politics.”

“I can trust Liam. Alan's the Lord Trevelyan so I cannot name him, Angus is a Templar, but Liam has children, and isn't heir to the Trevelyan line now that Alan has sons who are proving mettle. But having been raised as the second born, he at least has some experience. Unlike Maximilian.”

“She has four brothers?”

“Five, she's the youngest. Callum is in Val Royeaux, he's with the Chantry. He wasn't at the conclave, thank the Maker. Haven't you been traveling together for a while now?”

“We were even in Val Royeaux and she didn't say a damn word about having a brother there.”

“Evie's slow to warm up to people, but it's worth the fight. As long as you don't cross her,” Sebastian said, smiling faintly. Old faded memories there, pleasant ones from youth, before he'd ruined everything. “She once spent the better part of an hour chasing me around the estate with a riding crop because I tied her braid to her chair.” At Varric's disbelieving look, he smiled and turned his attention back to the road. “We would spend time together in the country. My mother believed getting out of the city was good for children.”

“A riding crop.”

“Orlesian riding lessons. We were...must have been about ten. So long ago. At any rate, Liam's said yes and so have my council because the alternative is Nevarran and they believe it's temporary, so now I have to tell her that I'm moving her brother to Starkhaven.”

“How well is that going to go for you, Vael?”

“Hide the riding crops, Varric.”

“She's got a sword now.”

Slamming her shield into yet another shrieking, toothy maw, Evelyn forged her way towards the rift.

The screech of metal was deafening, but the helm helped, muffling the noise around her. The gouge in her arm burned like fire, her sword arm hindered by the pain. That was fine, she'd deal with it after; for now the shield would do. She would never let her shield arm fall. Never.

She was a Trevelyan.

She threw the demon down to the ground before her, where it froze, shards of ice erupting from the body. Unfortunately there was a second, bursting from the ground next to her with a scream. Claws gouged into the damaged plates, scrabbling at her bleeding arm as the spindly, green-tinged creature loomed over her. She kept her footing somehow despite the burst of power, spinning despite the pain it brought, sword falling from numbed fingers as she slammed her shield into its face, stunning it and sending it staggering back.

“Got it, boss!”

Staggering back and away, she turned back to the rift. The way was clear at last. Forging through knee-high tangled weeds and marshy grass, her fingers flexed, other arm hanging uselessly. She could feel the blood dripping from her fingers, staining the ground as she passed. It didn't matter.

Only one hand was needed for this.

The surge of pain as she approached the rift was expected, and she gritted her way through it, hand flexing.

Lifting her shield, the effort of keeping her arm extended and upward sent a shiver of weakness through her arm and up her shoulder, the shield a dead, heavy weight. Relaxing her grip on the leather strap, she let her palm face the rift, willing that power to the fore. It crackled, bones aching in sympathy with the release of the strange green energy that now coursed through her.

If this was what magic felt like, she was grateful to have been born without that gift.

It arced from her palm as she willed the rift closed, eyes watering as the pain rose. It would be endured. She felt the rift closing, but too slowly for the last shade that escaped. A weak, pathetic thing, but she was in the throes of the mark, and could do nothing as it slipped free of the rift and swayed upright, surging towards her.

The arrow that cut through the air came mere inches from the side of her head, arcing over her shoulder with deadly precision. The shade screeched, the rift finally crackled closed, and the pain left her all in one moment, a dizzying overload of sensation. She swayed, falling to her knees as the connection was severed.

Two more arrows went by, and she stared blankly through tears as the shade collapsed in on itself and disappeared.

There was no energy to be spared for anything but pulling the shield to her chest rather than letting it drop. The fingers of her sword arm twitched, curled in towards her palm as she tested them. Still there.

Silence reigned.

Evelyn breathed, closing her eyes as she said a small prayer of thanks in the back of her head. It could have been worse. It could have been much worse.

The shield slumped over her knees as she finally slid it off, metal clanking against metal. She reached up and over to her shoulder and began unbuckling herself. Everything else could be bandaged up and ignored, but sadly her sloppiness meant that she'd have to raid their stash of potions. She did hate using them.

“Are you all right, dear?”

“Afraid not,” she said, smiling gratefully as Vivienne crouched down to help her. “I need a blacksmith, this is the second time I've lost my sword arm.”

“A blacksmith?”

“This armor isn't working for me.”

The mangled mess of her arm was revealed, arming doublet slashed through to her skin. Deep, mangled furrows bled freely as they were exposed, the padded fabric soaked through. She could feel the trickles pooling in her palm.

“That's because you're impatient. You're good with that shield, you need to let them come to you more. Running for them means you're leaving yourself open,” Bull told her in passing, handing down a potion to Vivienne, who uncorked it for her.

“Maybe so,” she agreed, not bothering to argue, “but the armor is also not working for me. It's too heavy, it slows me down. Need a proper set, made specifically for me. Getting to the rift quickly is more important than anything, or they just keep coming.”

She took the potion with a nod of thanks, tipping it back. Ugh. Evelyn grimaced as the liquid spilled down her throat, doing her best not to taste it.

“If speed is what you want, you might want to think about ditching the sh-” Bull started, and then squinted past her, lifting his head. “Huh, okay. So why am I not supposed to say that?”

“Telling a Trevelyan to give up her shield rarely goes well,” Sebastian replied.

Cradling her healing arm as the pain finally deadened, she half-turned as best she could on the ground, squinting up and over at Sebastian as he stood above them at the top of the gully. The sun was behind him, shining down on gleaming metal, making her already faulty vision worse. He looked like he was bloody glowing.

“I am known for being exceedingly sensible!” she snapped up at him icily, squinting until she could see the blob of his face a bit better. He didn't look injured from what she could tell, which wasn't much.

“I'll go see if the men have taken care of the rest of them, and see what gratitude will garner us,” he replied, sun glinting off of his armor as he walked away through the grass.

Breathing out a sigh through her nose, she scanned the damp, shallow ravine, eyeing the incline that led back up. It'd been easy going down, but she was grateful for the potion or it might've been impossible. She'd hurt her hip and leg badly when her horse had fallen on her. The battle had begun with her already at a disadvantage.

“You okay to ride, boss?”

“Yes, I can ride,” she agreed, struggling to her feet, vambrace in one hand, shield in the other. “You're likely in worse shape than I am, Bull, and I'll give up my shield the day you actually _wear_ armor. Or, you know, a shirt.”

“Got horns, boss.” The words were bland, but she could see the humor on his face. When she smiled, shaking her head, he chuckled faintly. “I'm all right. _Really_ don't like those ones that come hopping out of the ground. Knocked me flat on my ass.”

“You and I both.”

“Sorry about your horse.”

“At least she died quickly,” Evelyn said, grateful to no longer have to ride her. Poor thing didn't deserve the death she had been handed, but it was a better ending than many. They fell silent as they struggled up the slope, Vivienne having gone ahead. There was noise above them on the dirt track that had led here.

After a bit of sliding and a misfooting on loose rubble, she finally scaled the slope. Bristling green fields stretched out before them, the copse of trees that had hidden the demon who had attacked them casting shadows across the road. The farmhouse was on the top of a gentle hill, a sizable estate from what she could see.

Soldiers were already hauling away her horse's corpse, rousted from other duties by Sebastian. She spared a glance for the beast as she passed by, the earth dark with her absorbed blood. Yes, it'd opened the throat, she would have gone quickly. Maker's mercy. “We'll be back to Haven soon, and then I will have to face what awaits in the Ferelden Hinterlands. I did have you briefed, didn't I?”

“Yeah. Mages want to meet.”

“I've also had reports that there are quite a few rifts, unsurprisingly. I'm having them mapped now, with what few scouting forces we can spare. I need an army, Bull.”

“I am an army,” Bull replied, and then winked at her when she gave him a stony look. “Kidding, kidding. What about the templars?”

“I'm waiting for them to respond to overtures, hopefully word awaits in Haven. Our meeting in Val Royeaux was incredibly troubling. I reached out to the templars of Tantervale that remain to see if they had heard anything. Nothing.”

“They don't always have great communication between the different branches, though.”

“It was worth trying, and I needed to write to them regardless,” Evelyn said.

“Right. Your brother.”

She shot him a coldly curious look, raising an eyebrow. Of course he was a spy, he had sources, but she couldn't recall mentioning that to him. It seemed in bad form to admit knowing something unless it was precisely necessary. Which that wasn't. Was he testing her?

“Your Prince was talking to Varric about your family,” Bull informed her easily, still grinning as they trod up the long dirt path together, the farmhouse in the distance.

 _Her_ prince?

Oh, he was certainly testing her.

“Is that so? Well, he has a right to speak to people, I suppose,” she responded, keeping her facade intact. “Don't needle me, Bull. If you want to find my weaknesses, by all means ask and I'll tell them to you. In great detail. Would you like to know the greatest one?”

“What's that, boss?”

“I leave forgiveness to the Maker.”

“I'll try not to forget that,” he chuckled.

In the distance she could see the vague figure of Sebastian leaving the farmhouse, one of his retinue meeting him at the door. She wondered what he had thought of that experience. His first time seeing one of the tears in the Veil. Varric assured her he had fought demons before, and he hadn't faltered, but the rifts- they were new.

Luckily her poor horse catching the attention of a wandering demon had uncovered this one hiding out of view of the road.

It could have gone very badly for the farmers.

Evelyn had been seething since they'd set back out.

It didn't bode well for the discussion tonight.

She had said she wouldn't ride another plow horse, but unfortunately that was all the farmers had to spare, along with their luncheon. Sebastian had thought his solution was helpful, but of course being helpful meant she was irritated with him. She hadn't refused his offer, at least. Riding at the head of the column again, setting the pace on his white mare, she made a brave sight.

Having witnessed now what the Maker had chosen her for, he wouldn't let her anger drive him away.

What a burden to be given to a single person, and what a blessing for Thedas that it was her. She would need every ounce of support that could be given to her, and if this was his purpose, so be it. Her reason for not breaking the betrothal publicly was solid; damaging the reputation of the Herald of Andraste would be a foolish move on his part if he wanted to support her.

Privately, though, he would not consider them betrothed without her agreeing to it herself, and he should likely be honest with her about that.

When they left the road and settled for the evening, camp was made quite deftly. Supplies were low, but enough to last to Haven- though a hot meal probably would have been more pleasant. Still, spirits seemed high enough, his men were full of purpose after battling demons earlier in the day with no casualties or even grave injuries. Evelyn had taken the brunt of it.

He was reminded of it all over again when she settled down to patch her arming doublet, braid spilling over her shoulder down to her thigh, gilded by the firelight.

It had been a terrifying fight. There was a vast difference between sparring or even taking down bandits than there was fighting demons before a tear in the very Veil. He had fought demons before, but never in such circumstances. And then he had seen her close the rift, with the hand that was delicately threading a thick needle, her face placid and focused.

“You don't have a spare?”

“Resources are limited, we are working on it. Building a supply chain takes time, and making allies to give you those supply chains does as well. I'm certain mother is doing what she can. Letters are slow, but I made a point to tell her the state of my armory and no doubt she was suitably upset, knowing her.”

“We're rallying. Starkhaven is eager to give what it can to the Herald.”

“And what precisely does Starkhaven have to give me?” she asked frostily, glancing up at him once from under her lashes before returning her attention to her work.

Undeterred, he smiled faintly to himself and glanced over his shoulder at the woods they had stopped beside. They were at the mountain foothills now, and so there was a fair chance of bears, but he couldn't imagine he'd have to go far to find game. At least rabbits. Likely too late to flush birds on his own.

“Dinner?”

“Can you even hunt without dogs, Sebastian?”

“Yes.”

It was likely meant to be an insult, but it didn't hurt. Most of the things she said didn't, for they weren't the true source of their conflict. She hid her wounds from him and would not speak of the things that remained unresolved between them. She could pretend as she liked, but he knew that he had hurt her, deeply. The memories had stayed with him.

He was not afraid of his sins any longer, he had accepted them. He was not owed forgiveness from Evelyn, and to demand that she hear his apology when she had refused it once would be selfish and meant only for his own satisfaction. If, and when she wanted to speak to him, he would be ready.

She watched him leave, unreadable.

The years that had passed without her company had weighed less obviously on her than him, but neither of them was untouched by them. It was unfortunate that he had only the memory of his young friend to paint the portrait of the woman she was now, for he doubted she was interested in opening up to him. Maybe in time.

It was only rabbits he flushed out, though it took him longer than he would have liked to take down a few, full darkness as he returned to the camp. Not enough for everyone, but enough to hopefully make the conversation easier. Not bribery, just a peace offering. He did the butchery himself, but she unbent enough to sharpen his knife for him afterwards, in the midst of tending to her sword.

It was only sensible.

“There are a great many deer around Haven.”

It was Evelyn that broke the silence, examining the edge of his knife, her gray-green eyes shadowed by the tilt of her head. It glinted in the firelight as she turned it over, sliding her thumb delicately over the metal. Apparently unsatisfied, she shook her head and went back to work.

“It would have been nice, if I'd the time to track one down. Didn't you hate venison?”

“Did I? It must have been a very long time ago.”

He finished spitting the last rabbit and hung it with the others over the fire, turning the first one over. It spat hot fat into the flames, hissing and spitting. “The things I remember are old, I suppose. Evelyn, I've named my heir, just have to send out the last few letters and things will be settled.”

“Isn't it your cousin?”

“No. He'll not be leaving the Chantry, even if I die. I won't put Starkhaven through that again. I named Liam, and he's agreed. I wanted you to know before-”

“Liam?!”

“Evelyn, I can trust him, and-”

“Put him in danger! What about Agnes? And the children!?”

“They're all going to Starkhaven, it was the only way he'd go.” He faced her icy glare as calmly as he could, though the force of it was unsettling. “There hasn't been an assassination attempt in two years, Evelyn.”

She clamped her mouth closed, the tension in the line of her jaw hardening her delicate-featured face. Evelyn had always been more pretty than striking like her mother, practically a copy of her grandmother's portrait in the big hall. Age hadn't changed that, but it had refined it.

She was an easy woman to underestimate if you didn't know her.

“I'm considering one right now.”

“I can tell from the way you're holding that blade,” he replied, glancing down to his knife in her hands. “You know why it makes sense, so I'm not going to condescend and explain it to you my reasoning. They are as safe as I can make them. What can I say, Evelyn?”

She stared at him, eyes wide and blank, and then tilted her head very slowly to the side and smiled. It wasn't a friendly smile. Ducking his head, he turned his attention to the rabbits, the renewed hissing filling the air.

“Sebastian Vael, for someone who is seeking my forgiveness, you are doing a very poor job of sweetening my temper towards you.”

“I am well aware, Evie. Necessity is unfortunate.”

She sighed, heavily, and then the sound of metal on whetstone began again. When he glanced up she wasn't looking at him, face blank again, but her lips were pursed very lightly. He was well aware they were being given space, but he was also well aware that didn't mean that they weren't being observed. Antagonizing her further right now wasn't wise. There was nowhere private to go if she lost her temper with him.

Maybe they could have the discussion about the betrothal another time.

“Necessity, hmm?” she murmured.

Glancing up, his eyes met the blade being offered to him pommel first around the fire. The blade gleamed with oil as he accepted it from her palm, tilting his head in thanks. She nodded, but her eyes were already focused on the fire, gleaming with echoes of it. Evelyn went very still, visibly withdrawing into her own mind, and for the rest of the night he could get nothing but frigid, distant pleasantries and empty thanks.

Despite everything he had been telling himself, it still hurt more than any harsh words.


	5. Fashion and Gossip

_Hedgehog,_

_I'm sorry to hear about Uncle Roland and the cousins, and all those who were lost. I speak their names in the Chant of Remembrance. I'm also sorry I couldn't speak to you in Val Royeaux. Maker knows I'm doing my best here, and I know you're doing yours, but it's a mess and it would have made things worse. They haven't placed me as being your brother yet, so I can still do some good._

_Revered Mother Hevara was barely sweetened by your words, but she seems thoughtful now, withdrawn. The Lord Seeker embarrassed her badly. I don't think she's going to be giving you any trouble just now. Opinions are starting to fracture further. A contingent are even talking about going to join our brothers and sisters who have aligned with the Inquisition. I can't leave with them, I can do more good here, but be certain if they do they'll leave with my help and my blessing. Your spymaster has been in contact, I'll send this along through her._

_Maker keep you safe,_

_Callum_

_P.S. Congratulations, it's about time. Tell Vael my offer still stands._

Cullen's response to Evelyn's unexpected jaunt to Kirkwall was about as expected.

“You should have found reinforcements, I could have handled-”

“Technically I did find reinforcements,” she said, enduring the look he gave her when he turned back to pace across the small room. “I was across the water, and I have no plans to go back that way, Commander.”

“Kirkwall is not our concern, even though you did convince Vael to give up his crusade. Our attention would have been better spent elsewhere, Herald. I understand expedience, but...”

Well then, he'd gotten her first letter, but not her second. That was frustrating, hopefully the messenger was simply slow and not lost or rerouting her communications. Yes, things would be stolen, copied, passed along like grist in the rumor mill, but she did try to be discreet and at least she knew to seal her messages so those who received them would know they had been espied.

“I did send word,” she sighed, leaning forward and resting her hands on the war table, folded together as he paced past her field of vision again in the low candlelight. She didn't turn her head to follow him, picking a spot on the wall and staring at it. “Prince Vael has joined the Inquisition. He's setting up a supply train now, less food and more other supplies, but most of his men are better served protecting the Marches right now.”

The tension in his face dropped, and he paused in his pacing. A hand lifted, wiping down the front of his visage, and he straightened his shoulders under their heavy burden of metal and fur.

“Anything is welcome. You must have been very convincing.” Cullen finally sounded less frustrated, which relieved her. He seemed constantly on the edge of snapping. “Prince Vael- I've had his acquaintance, before he took the throne. Questionable taste in allies.”

“Well then that holds, doesn't it?” she quipped. Neither he nor Varric had mentioned that- she should have assumed, though. She was all too aware of Varric and Cullen's thorny but unelaborated past. It would come out in time, and if it didn't, Sebastian would tell her. “We are awfully questionable right about now, Commander. Heretical even. I wish they would have listened.”

“I did tell you it was a waste of time to address the Chantry. The mercenaries you brought back-”

“I've already informed Leliana of Bull's intentions so she could be forewarned. There is a breach in the sky, Commander. I'd rather have a spy right in front of me where I can see it than lurking about in the shadows. We fight well together, and he treats me with respect...for a man of his position. I have no complaints.”

“Why do I have the feeling you had this conversation once already _without_ me?”

He stopped, palms splaying out on the map as he leaned down and stared at her across the table. A brief examination of his features proved he was likely in need of a good sleep- but then who wasn't these days? When she smiled at him, placid and serene, he sighed and dropped his head forward.

“Only in my head. Anticipating people is comforting for me.”

“It leaves me feeling unbalanced,” he admitted, with a small crack in his voice. “Could you at least pretend you haven't figured out what I'm going to say, for my sake?”

She laughed, genuine humor that helped lighten some of the burden that had been lurking across shoulders already overladen. “Yes, Commander, I'm sorry. Are you all right?”

“Is anyone all right?” he retorted, pushing up from the table. Crossing the floor, he grabbed a pitcher from a narrow, beaten table, lifting it towards her questioningly.

“No wine for me.”

“It's water.”

Relieved, she smiled and nodded to him. “Then I'd be delighted.”

“My temper only gets worse with a headache,” he said, and smile at her small laugh, “a common affliction I suppose.”

“It certainly is. Any word from Chancellor Roderick?”

“He's never going to listen to you.”

She steeled her expression, displeased by the dismissive tone of his voice. It killed the camaraderie in the air, though he didn't seem to have noticed, still half-smiling to himself. When he turned and noted her expression, though, it dropped. Staring at her for a few moments, she refused to let the disapproval drop, lifting one eyebrow very slightly.

“I'm sorry, Herald,” he said, setting down the water, “but we must focus our limited resources on fights we can _win_.”

“I cannot feel good about moving forward without the acceptance of the Chantry,” she argued staunchly, clasping her hands around the rough mug. “All of it that remains, Commander. I realize people are scrabbling for power, or are terrified, but we must save every one of them that we can. I cannot feel good moving forward without them. It goes against my very nature.”

“Then I suppose you won't feel good.”

The door burst in, candles flickering in the cold air that swirled in from the great stone hall. Evelyn shivered, glancing over her shoulder as Josephine bustled in, eyes casting about. When they landed on her, the mixture of relief and censure was clear enough that Evelyn knew instantly that her little plot had been noticed.

“Herald! We cannot house the-”

“He said it was fine,” Evelyn said, lifting her cup for a small sip. The door was closed, shutting out the eternal chill. “Really, Ambassador Montilyet. If he isn't offended, why should you be?”

“We cannot house the Prince of Starkhaven in a tent, Lady Trevelyan! If word gets out-”

“Wait, what?” Cullen asked, bursting into the conversation, flustered. “When you said he pledged himself to the Inquisition-”

“Of course it is entirely understandable that he would wish to ensure your safety,” Josephine said, bustling around the table, clipboard clutched in both hands. “But certainly you don't want your betrothed sleeping in a tent, Lady Trevelyan. We can find other, more suitable quarters, I assure you!”

“Your-”

“The matter is dealt with,” she interrupted them both, cooly. “If Prince Vael refuses to return to Starkhaven, then he will have to enjoy what the Inquisition can spare for him. Right now? That's a tent.”

Josephine stared at her for a few moments, and then finally tilted her head in understanding. She was unhappy, but she wouldn't argue the matter any more in front of other people. Later, certainly, but not now. Cullen, on the other hand...

“Vael is here? Why didn't you mention you were engaged to him?”

“I didn't know about it, Commander,” Evelyn replied mildly, offering him a bland smile as he stared at her. “I found out less than a month ago.” His stare hardened, and she laughed lightly, tilting her head to the side. “This is just how these things go. It's very kind of him to sacrifice so much to protect me, considering the circumstances we find ourselves in.”

“You are the Herald of Andraste, you can't be forced-” Cullen's voice was was as stony as his face.

“I'm not being forced. He's made an arrangement with my father. I just didn't know who he'd chosen, that's all. Really, I should be flattered. Sebastian made the offer to me, not the other way around, and every single unmarried woman of the Marches and half of the rest of Thedas has been trying to throw suits at him for the last three years.” She could tell herself that, but not believe it. Ugh, still, it was the right and proper thing to say. This wasn't some teenage noble's daughter being dragged kicking and screaming to a Chantry to be forced into marriage with some fourty year old with money. She'd made a choice.

And then a choice had been made for her.

“But not you?”

“That's a bit more personal than I'm willing to be. Let's not discuss this any more, it's not Inquisition business. Surely the Herald of Andraste shouldn't share Lady Trevelyan's worldly concerns.”

Her smile wasn't returned. Evelyn waited, lifting her cup to her lips, head tilting to the side. Josephine was silent as well, eyes fixed downward on her clipboard.

“Hmh. I have to see to my men,” Cullen replied, the earlier relaxed mood gone as he turned and left the room. She turned her head to watch him go, quirking an eyebrow as the door closed with a bit more force than necessary.

“Was it something I said?”

“The Commander has many concerns. Do you have a moment for me?”

“Of course, Ambassador.” Evelyn turned her attention away from the door, tilting her head to the side.

Josephine sat down across from her, pressing both hands to her clipboard. She hadn't known about the betrothal when Evelyn had left for the Storm Coast, but certainly by now she knew more than most, possibly even more than Leliana. Evelyn wasn't really interested in telling her anything she didn't already know, but she could at least put her mind at ease.

“If it's about those fifth-ish cousins throwing my name around, my mother will take care of it, I've sent word. Sorry, I have far too much family. If it's about Sebastian, he won't get offended.”

“I can't possibly consider you accountable for every person that shares your name, but it is good to handle it swiftly. As for the Prince, a very public statement is being made irregardless of how he feels about it, Lady Trevelyan. I am happy to cede to your experience when it comes to politics in the Free Marches, but we face the whole world, and the Prince of Starkhaven-”

“Is expressing a newfound humility. I'm just providing him with the quarters that reflect that humility.”

“May I be frank, Lady Trevelyan?”

“Of course.”

“We have had several productive conversations about the future of the Inquisition and how we must sculpt our reputation, and right now to the outside observer it seems as if you are making a very loud and public announcement of how much you detest the man who you are going to marry.”

“Why would anyone think that?”

“Because you refused his suit once, eighteen years ago, and now you are betrothed to him on the word of your father and treating him with what amounts to disdain.”

Of course she knew. Why did she think that Josephine might not know? It wasn't important, the whole story belonged to her and her alone; not even Sebastian knew every reason in her heart, and it would stay that way.

“People can make what assumptions they like. And if that assumption is I'm being forced to marry someone I rejected once before, well. Gossip is vicious like that.”

“You seem to think that your reputation should be separate from the Herald's reputation, but they are one and the same. You are the Herald of Andraste.”

“Then the Herald of Andraste is betrothed to the Prince of Starkhaven and we'll just have to deal with that, won't we?”

Oh, she knew it was stupid to make him sleep in a bloody tent instead of where they were housing anyone else of rank. Hindsight made it very clear this was a stupid political decision, but at the time she'd just been so angry with him. She still was. He was putting her family in danger, abusing this betrothal he and her father had arranged to use her brother and prop up his position. And Liam had agreed to it! She couldn't believe he would be so careless with his family's safety.

A very sternly worded letter was awaiting her brother once she found someone to deliver it.

He wouldn't pay attention to it, not a single one of the elder oafs took her seriously, but she would at least vent her feelings.

“Your reputation precedes you, Lady Trevelyan. How many suits have you refused? I couldn't find a full accounting. Some of the stories of your refusals are quite outlandish, and seem to change with the teller of the tale. Some say you forced a certain chevalier to live a week among the flocks in a sheepskin before he could even consider asking for the hand of a woman of the Free Marches.”

“Fabrication. As if we enjoy it being implied that all we care about is sheep and swords. People just like to make up stories, Ambassador. Especially Orlesians.”

“And now you are the Herald of Andraste.”

“And as you made clear, my reputation precedes me and can't be gotten rid of so easily. People can just say, oh, what would be a better story that fits? I always knew I was called to higher things. That sounds inspiring, doesn't it?”

Josephine sighed, tiredly. “If you could only be frank with me in return, Lady Trevelyan. I cannot navigate this unless I know how you feel about him.”

That stung a bit, her lips pursing together tightly as she leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. Examining Josephine's face, she considered her options. Yes, this was incredibly petty, and petty wasn't a good look for a figurehead. She had gone too far, but he had been so agreeable about the tent to take it back would have been admitting defeat.

“Breaking our betrothal would not look good, Ambassador, and so I'm stuck with him. I'm stuck in an intolerable situation with someone I quite _obviously_ find intolerable. It's going to be a lovely marriage. No dishes will survive.” Her smile was not returned, nor was her attempt to be flippant. Josephine still looked quite serious.

“Circumstances have changed for you, if you wish to break your betrothal yourself, there would be very little damage done. Just another story.”

“That would be true if he hadn't pledged himself to the Inquisition and my protection. He's decided it's the Maker's will. Varric tells me that means he is _not_ going to change his mind. So either I refuse his suit for the _second_ time and then let him follow me around, or I just accept the situation as is for now.”

“Unfortunate.”

“Yes. Someone told me that necessity is unfortunate. I find it to be a very relevant statement at this point in time. The tent was a bitter little crack that he took with such good grace that it just infuriated me. He has this particular way of being so agreeable that I look like a monster in comparison, and it's very unfair.”

“ _Please_ , Lady Trevelyan,” Josephine said firmly.

“All right, all right, I'll speak to him. And do my best to pretend everything is fine between us in public, that he finally tamed the bloody she-beast or whatever it is they're saying. We'll work it out. After I go see Solas.”

Josephine's face cleared, the relief in her smile making Evelyn feel a little small. Her issues with Sebastian were simply not relevant to what they were doing. It was one thing to humiliate him in private, quite another to humiliate him in public. She couldn't escape the fact that every single thing she did was affecting everyone around her.

It was one thing to be taught it, and another to live it.

Being examined by such silent, thoughtful scrutiny was uncomfortable.

After her earlier chiding, Evelyn bore it with as much grace as she could. She remained silent as well, so as not to interrupt the apostate's examination of her palm. In the field she could ignore her concerns about this strange power that had been imposed upon her, but her ignorance was dangerous. Every scrap that could be gleaned about the mark was vital.

“It is constant, but you have seen no marked increase?”

“It's like the tremor of a very bad hangover, but no, it doesn't seem to get much worse,” Evelyn said, turning over her palm in his careful grip at the light tilt of her fingers. “Even when I close the rifts it isn't quite a pain, but I cannot think of any other way to describe it. Pain is as good a word as any. It was certainly much worse before.”

“It is good that it no longer troubles you so acutely, now that the Breach is stable. But we must move forward to secure an alliance, so that we may attempt to close it entirely,” Solas said, releasing her hand at last. “Perhaps doing so will solve the discomfort that plagues you yet.”

She flexed her fingers into her palm, examining the lean elven man as he turned away. He was a strange contradiction, both arrogant and humble at once, though the former seemed natural and the latter an affectation of posture. It could be ascribed to much time spent alone, she presumed. He spoke to her very familiarly, but not rudely.

When one was a lone expert, it certainly granted a unique rank that must be respected.

If he was going to be familiar with her, she should follow suit.

“There are so many variables that while I know I must choose a direction, without some foresight I fear both directions are doomed to fail,” she said, clenching her fingers in toward her palm and then releasing them, the low light of the crude house glinting over the soft fine lines of her joints. Her fingers trembled violently on the release. “Either could be a trap. The Lord Seeker seemed unstable, and the Grand Enchanter is an enigma.”

Solas' eyes were unfocused, as if thoughts turned inwards. She examined his features carefully, but his face gave nothing away. It never seemed to. That, at least, was a skill she respected in the extreme. The magic, less so.

Silly since it was keeping her alive, but it was true.

“And yet, inaction is the surest form of failure, is it not?” he finally spoke, with a hint of a smile.

“Is it?”

The question hung in the air, but remained unanswered. Solas turned away, picking up a sheaf of notes and sorting through them, the soft shuffling of paper filling the silence. She watched his back, fingers flexing again.

“The mark seems unchanged, despite the rifts you have closed. That bodes well, Herald.”

“I made a mistake. I should have asked you to join us instead of refusing your aid,” she acknowledged, and then smiled faintly at his raised eyebrow over his shoulder. “I am capable of saying the words.”

“I would never presume otherwise.”

“Well if you did presume it would be fair,” she said, still thinking over the confrontation that awaited her. “I am horrendous at admitting fault. I would make a joke about blaming my brothers for that, but even I can see irony when it's staring me in the face. I am sorry.”

“Forgiven. I understand how strange I must seem to someone in your position.”

“To ignore your council because of my own lingering discomforts is worse than arrogant, it is cowardly. Is it still available to me?” she asked him hopefully, rubbing her thumb into her palm, feeling how rough the skin was.

“Of course, Herald. Despite our differences, our goal is the same.” His assurance was blandly pleasant, but far from warm. She couldn't blame him in the slightest.

“Then may I ask- you came to Val Royeaux. What is your read on the situation, from your distance?”

“Do you lack perspective, perhaps?” he asked, and this time his smile was genuine, but wry.

“How could I not? My family is so historically aligned with the Chantry that it wasn't even a question of 'if' some of my siblings would join, but how many. That is one thing I am certain of, and the Commander made it very clear that he thinks my hopes for a united Chantry are doomed to failure.”

“I would imagine that to someone such as yourself, so historically entwined with the institution, that the Templars seem like the more viable choice. However, the Lord Seeker treated not only you, but also the institution you respect with blatant disrespect. I cannot see unification occurring without a leader, and the current circumstances is not allowing of such a thing.”

She frowned, dropping her head to stare at her hand. “But if we could convince some of the Templars to turn away-”

“Then you would have some Templars. Certainly not all, and certainly not enough to achieve your goal of reunification. You must look beyond that, and choose the more _important_ goal. Stopping the war, and closing the Breach. Stability cannot be found without peace.”

“Aligning with the mages would set a precedent that places us closer and closer to what is the wrong side of recent history.” Her mind wasn't on the conclave, or even on Val Royeaux, but the attack in Kirkwall, the explosion of the Chantry at the hands of Anders. Varric had told her of it so many times on their way to see Sebastian. Such a smaller scale, but to see what it had done to Kirkwall, even three years recovered, was devastating.

Would the whole world now become Kirkwall?

“Herald,” Solas said, drawing her out of her distressing contemplation. “The books of history have not yet been written. It may be you who chooses what the right side is.”

His words weighed heavy on her mind as she departed out into the Haven night, thumb pressing into her palm. What a statement. Could it be true? And if it was, what responsibility did she have towards it?

Should she simply do her best and let history go hang? Or should she make every movement with that eventuality in mind. Would it overwhelm her to try?

Would it eventually destroy her?

Pacing down the stairs, she passed by the tavern, glancing briefly through the cracked-open door. Music spilled out, people within, heat glowing across her cheeks for a mere breath. She walked away from them, letting the cold night swallow her once more. A fire in the distance, and she followed the light until she found the edge of it, gazing at the tents set up.

Sebastian was sitting at the fire, fletching an arrow. The warmth of firelight suited him, bringing a ruddy glow to his skin, highlights to his hair. She was struck all over again that he was different, even to the lines of his face in repose being different. When they were young there was always a hint of a smile, a little mocking, a little charming. It was long gone, and a gravity and thoughtfulness had replaced it.

His eyes were the same blue she had written fatuous teenaged poems to, however.

“What offer?” she found herself asking.

He started, hands going still, and glanced up at her. A soldier walked past them, offering quiet greetings, and she nodded politely. As their footsteps turned into the tavern, Sebastian cleared his throat, drawing her attention again.

“I fear I don't know what you mean, Evie.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. I was in my head. I've had a letter from Callum. The postscript said 'tell Vael my offer still stands'. I don't recall him liking you much, so I was confused.”

Sebastian stared at her for a moment, and then abruptly laughed, soft and chagrined. He dropped his head, attention returning to the jig that held the arrow shaft awaiting its fletching. A rough clear of his throat preceded a slightly awkward, “well, the memory is a bit hazy.”

“Shocking.”

“Aye, well. I believe it involved breaking both of my legs if I upset you.”

Less confused, and twisted into that particular mixture of fondness and long-suffering annoyance that came with dealing with her brothers, Evelyn sighed and lifted fingers to her temples. “Oh, that makes more sense. It's so infuriating. I'm halfway through my third decade and they still think I can't break legs for myself. I'm good with a mace.”

“I wouldn't doubt it for a moment.”

She might as well get it over with. “Sebastian, the- the tent? It was a rather mean-spirited joke. There's a bed waiting for you. You're going to give the Ambassador indigestion if you don't come inside.”

He fixed her with a flat stare, and then laughed, expression easing. Picking up an arrowhead in two fingers, he turned it over and examined it. “Evie, I'm well aware. I just wasn't interested in fighting with you.”

“Then come inside. Don't be scandalous, Sebastian.”

“Only an Orlesian would consider humility to be scandalous.”

“Well, she's Antivan, but- wait, you're not talking about Josephine, are you?”

“No, a Comte I've likely met once or twice recognized me and we had a good talk. More and more people are coming to see what this Inquisition's about, Evie.” At her hard look, he laughed. “What?”

“What did you do?”

“We had a very interesting discussion about what the Maker calls each of us to do in times of trial and suffering. He was moved by our talk of charity.”

“Oh was he?” she inquired flatly, crossing her arms under her chest.

“I believe he installed his servants in his quarters and went to go sleep in a tent himself,” Sebastian admitted, with just a hint of a smile she knew wasn't as innocent as it seemed. Despite her earlier thoughts, there was just a little of that charmingly mischievous boy in the edges of it. “I think he missed the point, but his enthusiasm was admirable.”

“Fashionable Orlesian piety...Maker save me.”

“You never know, Evie. In a month's time, all of Orlais could be sleeping in tents. You could have started a new trend.”

“Oh be quiet,” she demanded, but when he started laughing she couldn't help her smile.


	6. Regrets and Other Things Left Behind

_Max,_

_Now that we've gotten the formalities out of the way, I just want you to know everything's as well as it can be in these circumstances. I don't feel right reporting to you on your sister despite your request. It felt too much like going behind her back and so I brought it to her directly- it didn't go well. You know how private she is._

_I'd rather not make things any worse, Callum's already threatened to break my legs, Liam's been less discreet than that- I'm fairly certain you and Angus are the only ones that haven't made some sort of veiled threat or warning. And yes, I'm including your mother._

_Greater men than I have been slain by a single word from Lady Dierdre._

_Whatever Evie will tell you is what you'll be told. I'm sorry Max, but know she misses you more than she would ever say. The first supplies are leaving Starkhaven soon for Haven. There's room for a couple more bodies, should you find yourself in need of trip to enjoy the mountain air. I'm currently watching her smile for the first time in a week. It's a good thing to see, but she could stand to do it more often. I know the right man for the job._

_I hope to see him soon if he takes my very unsubtle hints._

_Maker bless you and keep you,_

_Sebastian_

They sat at the fire just past Redcliffe farms, a larger company now, and one Sebastian felt himself slowly becoming less unwelcome in. A new addition aided that, he thought, but Varric still seemed to dislike his presence. Hopefully they could have it out at some point, find a way to bridge what had happened in Kirkwall.

Seeker Pentaghast had finally caught up, along with the archer Sebastian had yet to meet, Sera, and the Madame de Fer after a side-jaunt to handle some Inquisition business in the Crossroads. Skirting the great battlefields had been dangerous, and seeing Evelyn's pain every time they were forced to fight the mad templars had worried him.

Sera was impressive with her bow, it had been a pleasure to fight with her on the last leg of their journey here. She was eyeing him with a rather unfriendly air right now. He tried not to focus on it, much more pleasant things to observe at the moment.

“I do recall you once calling geldings 'horses for babies',” Sebastian commented comfortably, watching Evie's continued inspection of the blazed bay that Dennet had gifted her.

Tilting her cheek against the horse's shoulder, Evelyn shot him a dark look with no real force behind it. When he just smiled, she spun on a heel with a whip her long braid, and began pacing around the placid Ferelden Forder, a sturdy beast well-suited for carrying armored soldiers. “I can't imagine why I would have said that.”

“Probably because I'd gotten a new horse and you were jealous.”

He was expecting a cold look and a dismissal, but after a long moment of silence, she actually laughed, giving the gelding a friendly slap on the rump on her way around, and then a scratch along his side that the beast leaned into with a shifting of its bulk.

“That does sound like me,” she agreed, and then breathed a sigh out through her nose. “Father finally let me convince him I could break that Frostback Mountain stallion was trying to breed quite a few years ago. I broke my tailbone and nearly got my skull caved in. Still aches sometimes when I've been in the saddle too long. Horsemaster never let me live my arrogance down.”

He winced in sympathy and Blackwall gave a faint 'hmm' under his breath, glancing up from his butchering of the deer Sera had beaten Sebastian to taking down. “I wondered why you seemed so stiff dismounting, Herald. Doesn't seem like you're unfamiliar with the saddle.”

The Warden was a welcome addition to the company, in Sebastian's opinion. The man himself seemed uncertain around him, but Sebastian knew that the Wardens were used to being disliked by the nobility. He himself had no quarrel with those called to such a lonely and harsh calling, for they served the Maker in their own way, just like him.

He had nothing but respect for the Gray Wardens.

“Just my broken arse!” Evie said cheerfully, the brief moment of annoyance at his mention of their childhood seemingly sweetened by the horse. “Ah, he's a pretty lad. Not quite my temperament, but a good gait and decent speed and a sweet patient thing, aren't you?” The open and easy affection was charmingly like the Evelyn he remembered from their youth, the soft brogue thickened, and for a moment he could forget all the years between.

And then she saw the paper on his lap-desk as she nudged her cheek into the gelding's nose and the warmth in her eyes died away. The distant stretched between them again.

“Who are you writing now? Meddler.”

“Maximilian. Come read it,” he invited.

Evelyn only snorted with a toss of her head and turned back to the horse she was babying, giving him a kiss on his nose as both hands cupped under his jaw. The gelding nosed hopefully at her shoulder, sending her a half-pace back with a laugh. “Greedy!” she chided, but he noticed she fished the half parsnip out of her leather coat regardless, offering over the rough, wrinkled root.

“It's just a smelly horse,” Sera said dubiously, screwing up her face in disgust as Evelyn stared her down and defiantly kissed him on the nose again. “Eugh.”

“Don't try to understand horse girls, they're all a little crazy,” Bull remarked from across the camp where he was talking to one of his men. “Boss. A minute? It's about that templar encampment to the east.”

“Certainly, aye,” Evelyn agreed with no apparent care for the slight insult, pulling her gelding by his soft halter and leading him to one of the scouts, who took over. She disappeared into the evening gloom as she approached Bull, hands tugging down the sides of her coat.

The new armor looked more comfortable for her now, he'd noticed.

Folding up the letter to Maximilian, he set it aside for sealing later. The next one he needed to address was battered and torn at the corners, but no less important. Maybe even more so, though he would never know. He was merely a link in the chain.

Sera was lounging across the fire, idly eyeing him with a stare more dubious than intense. As he thumbed open the well-worn letter that had been left for him behind a cracked stone in the wall, he offered her a pleasant smile and tilted his head questioningly.

“They say you're a prince.”

“Probably because I am,” he replied, turning his attention down to the paper in his hands. “I wouldn't mind being called Sebastian, though.”

“It ain't dirt, yeah?” At his questioning look, she ripped a hunk off the bread in her lap and pointed at him with it. “It don't wash off.”

“No, it certainly doesn't. If you can overlook Evelyn being a Lady, it can't be that hard to overlook that I'm a prince, can it?” The letter was about as he had expected, something to pass on but not something he could handle himself. Pulling out the leather case of writing supplies from his satchel, he flipped through it until he found a suitably innocuous paper to replace it, a back leaf ripped out of an old book.

“Yeah, but she's gonna fix the sky, you're not,” Sera pointed out with a wave of her hand, leaning closer. “Wot you doin'?”

“This letter won't make it any further, and it needs to. It's not mine, just a stop on the way. So I'm going to copy it and send it on its way with a minor change.”

“Stealin' letters?”

“I'm simply aiding a friend,” he said, doing his best to copy the letter exactly, balanced on the thin wooden knee-desk. Best to get it done before the light was gone completely. “They did me a good turn when I was retaking my throne and allowed me to aid some of my people who were being mistreated, and so I try to be a good friend in return. Every now and again, I get an unexpected request.”

Of course he knew who Sera was, Evelyn had told him without truly realizing what she had been telling him. Unlike his business, which was entirely hers and he would continue to be an open book about, this was not at all his business. It belonged to other people, and always should have. He would remain where he should, on the fringes, doing what he could and listening when it was required of him.

It had been a mistake to be so involved before, but it would be foolish to not be aware of things that happened under his nose.

“You're too big to be a friend.”

“Oh, I'm aware, and I wouldn't try. But I'm not too big to be a friend of a friend. Or at least an acquaintance.”

“Lemme see,” Sera demanded, reaching around the fire, fingers wiggling expectantly.

“Let me finish,” he laughed, dashing off the last few nigh-incomprehensible lines as quickly as he could. Lampblack ink was touchy, and so he passed over the letter carefully, letting her snatch it out of his fingers. “Let it dry before you fold it.”

Turning back to his small traveling desk, he capped the ink before it could spill. Busying himself, he glanced up once briefly at Sera, but she was eyeing him and not the paper. He could not expect anything but her suspicion, so he bore it silently, offering her the old letter as well. When she shook her head, he cast the original into the fire.

“I can get this where it needs t'go.”

“I would be grateful, thank you.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Sera asked sharply, folding up the paper and tucking it away, her eyes never leaving him, dubious yet.

“Like what?”

“Like you actually give a shite. It's not real, is it?”

“I do care,” he said, lifting a hand to rake back his hair, and then regretting it as he dropped his hands and noted ink-stained fingers. It might be time for a wash. He rolled his thumb across his fingertips, glancing up across the fire at Sera. “A bit too much.”

“How can you care too much?”

It was the Seeker Pentaghast's clipped Nevarran accent, her armored frame emerging out of the darkness with her sword bared and bloody. At his questioning look, she shook her head. “Everything is fine. Solas and I handled it, it was only a bear driven down too close to the farms by the fighting.”

“Only a bear? Maker preserve,” he laughed. “In times like these, a Ferelden bear is an 'only'.”

“Sad but true,” Cassandra said, settling down on one of the fallen logs, dragging her sword across her knees to clean it. She looked otherwise unharmed. “The question is unanswered, Prince Vael. How can a prince, a ruler of a city, care 'too much'? Surely you must be more dedicated than any.”

“Dedicated, yes. But letting yourself care too much about the wrong things will destroy you. It was the flaw that nearly led me to my downfall,” he admitted, smiling faintly and shaking his head. His penance had drained the shame from such memories. “It made me selfish. Cowardly. When I joined the Chantry, in time I dedicated myself to the Maker- until my family was murdered. I avenged them, prepared the way for my return to Starkhaven, and what I always wanted in my youth was within reach. Being prince. I didn't want it any more.”

“Surely you cannot consider avenging your family's murder to be a mistake?” Cassandra asked, leaning forward. He found her intensity amusing, but hid a smile.

“No, but I did break my vow to the Maker. Once I had time to think about what awaited me in Starkhaven, all the intrigue and backstabbing, I tried to give up the path I had chosen for myself yet again and return to the Chantry. Selfishness. I didn't want to be prince, so I convinced myself that my broken vow was more important than lives. I tried to rededicate myself to the Chantry, and let Starkhaven go hang. False humility, I only wanted the peace, and to avoid the responsibility.”

“Wot happened?” Sera asked, sharply.

“He had some sense knocked into him,” Varric interrupted roughly, much to Sebastian's amusement. It seemed his story had drawn some interest. Varric shook his head, with a chagrined smile they shared. “By someone who has a way of doing that to people.”

“She does. And so I went back and tried to make Starkhaven my home again when Hawke left Kirkwall, and spent three years trying to set things to rights on my own to prove that I could, that I could be worthy and survive all the parts that I despise. That I could learn to be the prince my people deserve, and finally learn what humility truly meant. Still not certain I have. Sometimes I do regret breaking my vows, but I cannot dwell.”

“Is that why you waited three years to ask for the Herald's hand? You wanted to prove yourself worthy?” Cassandra asked, eyes amusingly soft.

Was there a romantic in his midst? He wouldn't have presumed a Seeker of the dragon slaying house Pentaghast for it. Well, he had nothing of his own to hide, not any more.

“Not of her, no. That would have been foolish to assume that Evie would be impressed by such things. I wanted to prove to myself that I was worthy. As I said, I know my weaknesses now, my fickleness, my selfishness, my tendency to want things that are not mine to have and abandon things that I should be grateful for in the act of reaching for my desires.”

Varric sat down next to Sera, who pulled something out of her pouch to show him. Giving a faint 'huh', Varric turned it over in his thick fingers. Cassandra was thoroughly fixed on Sebastian, though, a small smile on her lips. Beyond her, he could see the figure past the ring of firelight, arms crossed over her chest. He knew she was listening.

“And Evie, as much as my path to stability would have been so much smoother with her aid and her skill in the courts, building alliances and rousting the scheming and backstabbing- well, she would have probably run me right over.”

He saw out of the corner her faint silhouette draw up, no doubt in annoyance. He hid his smile, leaning forward to poke a stray log back into the fire to burn. Sparks spiraled up into the night, the last of the sun's light fading from the sky, moons high.

“You talk too much, Sebastian,” Evie remarked out of the darkness, voice sharp. “Don't you know when to stop?”

“You think everyone talks too much, Evie. You know it's true as well as I, I've never been good with a blade. You always knock me right over with that shield of yours,” he said, smiling at her loud snort.

“Metaphors now? Well then, you're too afraid of taking a blow.”

“That too,” he admitted easily, “but taking a blow is something that comes with practice, no one's born knowing how. Just like politics, or being back-stabbed...or being hurt. It was better that I learned on my own.”

She wandered to the edge of the firelight, gaze inscrutable and shadowed down the length of her nose. “And now you've left Starkhaven again. Repeating old mistakes?”

That brought up an old memory, one that brought a smile to his lips. He might have been extraneous, unwanted and unneeded, but he had still been raised by his parents. While he may not have been perfect, and mistakes had been made along the way, he truly felt he had accomplished what he could.

“Starkhaven is strong. My men hold any stray demons at bay, and despite the troubles of the world, the city is at peace within its borders as much as it can be in a time of such strife. The city will run itself with minimal interference from me, as long as that peace holds. But they still look to me to lead in this crisis, to do _something_. A leader never stops proving they can lead, or they have failed. I know that much.”

“Is that what you think they will see, and not a prince who goes haring off yet again, like he did in his youth? Inconstant, unreliable, untrustworthy? ...selfish?”

The words struck deep, and he knew she wasn't speaking merely of his city, but what lay between them. She would not speak of it, and he would not force her, but in that silence was a wound that would not be healed. There was no answer to be given. He didn't know; all he knew was her words would yet again have him praying deep into the night in search of clarity.

What if he had been wrong?

“Only the Maker knows,” he told her, “for I cannot see what has yet to be.”

“Hmh,” she said, walked back into the darkness.

Yes, tonight would be a night of prayer.

He was safe, he was alive.

Still, every templar helmet she removed after battle had her holding her breath. Each face revealed was searched for signs of familiarity. None of them would be Angus, but her heart didn't know it- only her mind. This one was young, maybe twenty or a little over. She gently closed her eyes, and folded arms over her chest.

“Herald...”

“It has to be the red lyrium, Varric, doesn't it? You told me what it did to Meredith, and we found an entire cave of it where they were camping. It has to be the lyrium.” She knew her voice cracked, came dangerously close to weakness, but she had to know.

“Normally I'd say you were just looking for an easy answer, but with that stuff? It's possible.”

“Then we have to clear out this entire wood, it can't be risked.” She rose, hands bloody, glancing across the scattered bodies amongst the spires of ice. The Witchwood was full of battle. Battle to protect refugees, but still death and destruction. “Maker, I wanted to save people. Not this.”

“From wolves to mages, and templars alike, everything in this area has been driven mad,” Solas said, rising from his own crouch. The wound in his side was gone, but she still looked him over worriedly. He smiled, humorlessly. “Herald, I am fine.”

“They should have never gotten past me. Splitting up was a mistake.”

She scanned the rest of the battlefield, until she saw Sera's lifted hand through the twisted trees and unevenly broken land. Hefting up her shield, she started forging onward, leaving the small skirmish behind. It would have been wiser to hurry on, but her heart refused the logic. She had to see their faces. Had to know.

Something in her stomach sat uneasily today, and had since her too-early waking.

Some portent, something awry, something wrong. It was what had her searching the faces of templars, looking for Trevelyan blood. Too many of them in the chantry, too many names yet unaccounted. They had lost Uncle Roland, with his broad smile and his too-long prayers at meal. Cousin Ioan with his gnarled hands that ached, but still delicately carved toys for all the youngest. Bright Cousin Laurel, loud Geraldine, shy Walter, all gone. All lost.

They forged under trees and toward a clearing where the sounds of battle were fading, but in her mind was nothing but a litany of names. Names lost, names missing, possibilities, family. Every face was someone else's litany, someone else's family, now lost. Driven mad, she hoped, driven mad by red lyrium and not by anger and hatred.

Madness a mercy.

They broke into the clearing, weapons trained on them abruptly, and then relaxing. Cassandra heaved a sigh and nodded to her, straightening up, Sebastian lowering his bow, Vivienne her staff. She barely saw them, they blurred as she counted the faces and her mind spoke the names of those she could have lost. Brothers and sisters, mothers, templars, and yet her mind had betrayed her and forgotten the family that were not in Chantry, but Circle.

Had she forgotten them, or had she rejected them?

Dinah.

_Dinah._

She rested as if exhausted, sprawled in the cup of a root that cracked a crumbling cliffside. Embraced by the earth, head fallen to the side, hair ragged and torn around her blank and staring face. Arrow in her heart, but the wounds that exposed her visceral insides and stained her robes were from a blade; it didn't truly matter who had killed her. Her eyes were open. Had Evelyn ever closed a mage's eyes, or had she overlooked them all? Had she said a prayer for any of them?

Blank, staring, Trevelyan blue, freckles, the same nose as Alan and Liam.

Grandfather's nose.

There was no mistaking Dinah as anything but family, and Evelyn had abandoned her.

She stood so long in thundering shock that all eyes were on her. None of them understood, but the instant Sebastian's eyes shifted from her face to the body on the forest floor, she knew that he knew. He was moving when her bloody gauntleted hands clasped around her mouth, and the only daughter of Lady Dierdre Trevelyan let her shield fall.

“Don't look, Evie,” he demanded as she fell, shielding her eyes with his body, falling to his knees before her. “Don't look.”

“Maker,” Cassandra said quietly.

It wasn't a sob that escaped her, but a scream, pushed back behind her hands as she curled in on herself, forcing it in, and in. It wasn't the time, it wasn't the place, and she wouldn't cry, she wouldn't. The shriek was muffled the best she could, fingers digging into her face, cold metal plates gouging, blood smearing. His hands were on her shoulders but she couldn't feel them, she could only be grateful he was hiding her.

They couldn't see her like this, no one could.

He was speaking, the comfortingly familiar-unfamiliar voice with the softly rolling gravel to it, deep and meaningless in her ears. It meant nothing. When he reached for her hands, she resisted- she was stronger and he didn't want to hurt her. The struggle ended with his capitulation as she hyperventilated into her palms, breathing back in the heat that strained her lungs, giving her no air. Every sense was there but no longer functioned, her vision beginning to gray out at the edges as her lungs strove for something she could not give them.

There was no comfort to be found.

The Witchwood was still.

Birds had returned swiftly, perhaps fleeing from other battles, relieved to find a place of peace again. Their song filtered through the trees, petering out slowly as the sun began to set, sending orange light across spires of ice that still steamed. The roots of the tree cradled bare earth now, blood turned and buried so that no trace remained. She stood and stared at it, alone, upright.

There was no comfort she wanted.

Sliding the shield from her arm, she stared down at it, held in gauntleted hands stained with traces of darkened blood. The Trevelyan crest had been emblazoned on it at her insistence, the unbridled horse rearing on its hind legs, defiant and strong. Stepping forward to Dinah's grave, she knelt down and placed the shield over the newly-turned earth. It was not the family graveyard, but she could not even now recall if Trevelyans in the Circle would come home upon their death.

“My dear...”

“It wasn't her choice, Vivienne. It wasn't their choice.”

“We are all born to things we do not choose. It is what we do with those things that defines us.” Vivienne's voice came from behind her, calm and even as ever. Grounding.

 _But the templars chose_ , her mind said.

Here she had been trying to protect family, terrified of finding them under her blade, and she had overlooked the mages. And yet, there were mages of her blood- so what was it she was truly trying to protect? Her insular corner of the world? Her blood, her pride, her lineage?

“I never wrote her. I was so angry, and I never wrote her. I will remember that for the rest of my life.”

“Then make that sorrow productive, Herald of Andraste.”

“I will,” she said, nodding her head slowly, swallowing. “I will. In the morning we ride for Redcliffe. I will meet with the Grand Enchanter.”

She knew Vivienne would be displeased, but also that she would not argue with her. It was the right thing to do, and the right time was now, before more lives were lost to whatever poison had seeped into this land, be it lyrium, fear, or hatred. It would be stopped.

When she rose and left her shield behind, she brought with her a new purpose.

And new regret.


	7. Hushed Whispers

Names.

The memorial wall of the Redcliffe chantry was covered in them. The script was an accounting of trials, too many only just added, a valley of more normal additions faded in a gradient of time and wear until the surge of the Fifth Blight and the undead attacks of years before. A story with no words but the names.

“Shall I fetch you a plaque?” Sebastian asked, having risen from his prayers at last among the damage they had caused to this sacred space.

How long had she been standing here?

His prayers were always excessively long these days. She remembered when they would race through them in the Chantry to see who could finish first, only to be scolded by Revered Mother Imelda. Little children giggling behind pious hands.

“And what right do I have to beg for a woman I do not even know to be remembered by the Maker and his children?” she asked harshly, words spilling from the numbness inside of her with a rage that had been unknowingly simmering during her contemplation. “What right have I? Unless I carve every single name I have struck from history with my words and my blade into stone so deep that they are remembered for every century yet to come, I have no right to demand the Chant remember a single one because of _my_ regrets.”

“She was family, Evie.”

“Was she? If so, then I have committed the ultimate sin of House Trevelyan, which is to abandon family. She did what any frightened child might do when she blamed me for her magic, and I let it become a betrayal that poisoned me. I have no right to mourn Dinah. We have things that must be done, and if I do not continue, then I will fail all those who could be yet saved.”

He sighed, shifting at her side with a creak of leather. She kept her chin up, gaze firm as she stared at the wall, lines blurring together into nothingness as her stare unfocused. How many names had never been scribed upon a chantry wall?

“To mourn those who walk at the Maker's side is not something to be ashamed of, Evie. You are allowed to do both, no, you should do both. Move forward and mourn. To do otherwise is to-”

“Do not preach to me, Sebastian,” she demanded, too tired for anything but a fragment of the spite she felt. “That isn't what I want from you.”

Gratefully it silenced his attempt, though she hadn't expected it. “Then what, Evie? What is it I can do for you now?”

“I don't know. Remember every face I forget, write every name given to me, make record of them all as I move on and murder in the hopes of saving lives.” The words were tired, and not sincerely meant. She only wanted to say something to convince him to leave her be, let her brood in peace. “I don't want to forget, Sebastian. I want to remember every mistake, every death.”

“Don't-”

He stopped short, silent. They stood together shoulder to shoulder, staring at the memorial wall, him with his hands folded at his back, hers at her waist. She saw his chest rise as he sighed, scale clattering softly as he took a half step back, preparing to leave.

“Don't let them bury you. We need to leave for Haven soon, but take what time you need.”

The retreating of his boots echoing on the chantry floor was more welcome than she would ever admit. The blur of her vision snapped back to as her eyes focused in again. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him depart through the rubble of battle, shattered benches gouged by demon claws, the scorch of the stone floor.

She stared at his upright back until he stood silhouetted in the bar of light between the two doors, disappearing out into the glow.

_Magic that changed time itself._

Could such a thing truly exist? Certainly the rifts here were strange, but the idea that time could be manipulated...and yet she had met with Grand Enchanter Fiona outside of Val Royeaux, and she believed that the woman's confusion about them ever having spoken was genuine. Mental manipulation, time, or illusion of some sort, she did not know. But Fiona's ignorance seemed genuine.

To leave an occupying force in Ferelden was unacceptable.

To abandon the mages to Tevinter was also unacceptable.

Turning back to the memorial wall, she stared at it, wandering over the newest names. If she left Redcliffe to the mages, even if Ferelden came and ousted them, there would be a loss of life. More names. It was simply unacceptable, even if the breach was the priority.

When she turned and left the chantry, it was with a name written, but not hung on the wall. She tucked it inside her coat instead, until she felt ready to place it where it belonged. Impossible to carry all of them with her, but she would do what she could to minimize them.

“Queen Anora is going to take issue, my dear,” Vivienne said when she pushed past the door, waiting for her. “No doubt Arl Teagan has ensured that aid will come for Redcliffe.”

“Yes, but we cannot wait for her. You heard Pavus,” she said, scanning the path ahead, but seeing no one else. When Vivienne gestured, she nodded and followed. They walked shoulder to shoulder, the noise of Redcliffe filtering in with the sunshine as they left the small private chantry. “I do not know how much of this manipulation would have to be brought to bear in order to destroy everything, but those strange rifts are only the beginning if we are to believe him. I would not enjoy everything being unmade, I think. He did all of this to get to me. I _must_ face him.”

“Grand Enchanter Fiona has backed you into a very unpleasant corner.”

“I understand desperation, but you are correct,” Evelyn sighed, reaching up to rub her forehead. “Luckily when backed into a corner I fight like a cat. There's nothing for it. We'll return to Haven and discuss tactics before bearding the Tevene lion in his den. Cullen will be furious.”

“Do you believe their sincerity, then? Dorian and the magister's son Felix?”

“I believe the magister's son more than I believe Dorian, and perhaps that makes me a fool, but- not everyone is as uncompromising as I. I understand wanting to stop someone out of love and not hatred.”

“Then I hope for your sake you are correct. It will be good to have these mages back under proper authority, should we succeed.”

“Are we a proper authority, Vivienne?” she asked, finding a shred of humor rising in the solemnity of her heart. They turned the corner and gazed across the city, to where the horses were being prepared for their trek back. Light glinted off of Sebastian's armor. A bloody beacon of light.

She should steal a pot of blacking and cover it while he slept. Maybe his face, too. Give him a mustache right across his face. He'd look terrible with a mustache.

“My dear, at this moment we are. We have done a great deal of good here, and people will remember that. I do not believe it is _us_ that Queen Anora will find fault with.”

“I've asked Fergus to smooth the way with her, when we sent him that envoy,” Evelyn said absently, still imaging a big hideous mustache slapped across Sebastian's face.

“Fergus, dear?”

Blinking, she glanced over, snapping out of her reverie. “Oh. Teryn Fergus Cousland of Highever.”

“Of course. I have very little doubt we will have any trouble gaining the full support of Ferelden, they have been far more impacted by the breach than many, and they have suffered too greatly in recent memory to be eager to turn their backs on aid,” Vivienne said smoothly, lifting one graceful hand to the Tranquil that had asked to join them, waiting patiently with the wagon. “Excuse me, dear, I should go give him orders for the trek back.”

“Of course, Vivienne. Thank you for your help,” Evelyn replied by rote, squinting an eye as her turn for the cart got another glint of metal shining directly in her eye. Damned man. Everything he did irritated her, certainly, but that bloody armor needed to be dealt with.

It hadn't escaped her notice that he was bearing every bit of spite and venom with a relaxed ease that didn't seem in the least bit like suffering. If he had been dramatic about it, it would have made her angrier, but he kept taking the wind out of her sails. It was like being angry at a stone. Oh, certainly it was a tactic, and that suspicion kept her from falling into his trap, but it was a good tactic.

He would not be forgiven.

After all, he didn't even know why she hated him, so how could he repent?

Noticing Sera through the crowd, sitting on a fence swinging her feet, Evelyn's idea solidified into a certainty. Yes, something would be done about the man. Sera would help her, and perhaps in that aid, they could finally find a way to see eye to eye. Common ground and a common goal would be key in making peace with Sera.

Common ground like tormenting Sebastian.

This time Evelyn did her best to pretend she hadn't anticipated Cullen.

It didn't work as well as she'd like, he seemed quite irate at the beginning, though it quickly quieted to a resignation as she refused to bend. Leliana's support was immensely valuable, and her quick thinking was as always relieving. They had no time, and cobbling together a plan must happen as swiftly as possible. If she ran to the Templars instead, things might go horribly in Redcliffe.

At least she could get Cullen to agree that the magister must be stopped.

It was strange to think that some of those who had aided her on the road and joined the Inquisition looked to her for guidance, but it seemed assumed she would take command of her small misfit band. Not that she was ignorant of such things, but planning for war and planning parties, while holding many similarities, were in the end two very different things. That they trusted her in this was both unnerving and baffling; she had thought on the road many mistakes had been made, but here they were, looking to her.

She was trained to fight and lead, but not to lead fighting.

Well, Evelyn would continue to learn.

The map they had bought on their last jaunt was spread out atop a barrel awaiting loading into the wagon, and they all stood around it. Haven was busy with Leliana's preparations, but the soldiers would be remaining. To take too many would risk an incident with Ferelden.

They were alone.

“Solas, Vivienne, I will need you to go with Leliana's agents through the secret entrance. Should things go terribly awry, magic will be needed.”

“How many people do you figure he'll allow in that meeting? Not very many, I'd wager,” Blackwall said, peering down at the map of Redcliffe.

“No, that's certainly true. I can't take many regardless, an invading force would destroy any good will we've garnered. Bull, I'll need you and the Chargers to enter Redcliffe as we-” She gestured to the map, leaning over it with a swing of her braid. “-enter the castle. Should things go as badly as they can, Leliana will signal, and I'll need you to come pull my arse out of the fire.”

“Ride to the rescue. Got it, boss.”

“I'll take Cassandra, for my back-”

“Of course, Herald.”

“And-” Casting her gaze around, she landed on the archers. Sebastian was obviously right out, she didn't need to be endangering the Prince of Starkhaven with this stunt. No, it had to be- “Sera. Bring your lockpicks. If there are still servants in the castle, I don't want them in the way. They might get hurt. Can you handle getting them out of danger while Cassandra and I deal with the magister? Discreetly, please.”

“Sure I can,” Sera agreed, shrugging her shoulders, but Evelyn could see she was pleased. She would continue to try to bridge things between them, for Sera's skills were important, and having someone think of the smallest of the people was valuable. No one should be forgotten.

Luckily colluding on some minor mischief that had soothed Evelyn's irritation had found that common ground she had been hoping for.

“Good. Warden Blackwall, Varric, can you hold with the Chargers? That's as many people as I'm willing to take into Redcliffe in the current circumstances.”

“Yeah, we've got it. Sure hope you don't need us, though,” Varric said pensively.

“From your lips to Andraste's blessed ears,” Evelyn sighed, and then glanced up at Sebastian, who was gazing at her with a withdrawn, expectant look. The set of his jaw was tight. “I'm sorry. I won't risk you to this. Your life is more important than your bow being drawn in my defense this time.”

“The risk is mine to take, Evelyn.”

“No, Sebastian. I've been very tolerant, but if you argue with me on this, I'll have you tied up, thrown over your horse, and delivered to my mother. You'll never escape her.”

He smiled, but there was absolutely no humor in it. “At least let me join your reserve guard, Evelyn. I won't argue with you, but I would appreciate being able to lend aid if needed.”

“Come bicker with me while I walk,” she invited, nodding to the group and stepping back and away from the wagon. He followed without a word as everyone began loading supplies for the journey and discussing what was to come, catching up and keeping pace. People were moving with purpose, things were humming along, but she felt slightly underwater, everything indistinct and muffled. Had she led before, in something like this?

On the field, in the moment, certainly. But now she was making decisions that could get so many people killed. Every single one she made grew a bit larger, its impact wider. Maker, she was afraid.

Nothing in life could prepare one for this.

“Your face is memorable-”

“Well, thank you.”

She sighed in irritation and continued, louder than before, “And your name and position widely known. I can't just show up to meet with a magister with the Prince of Starkhaven on my heels,” she said pointedly, pausing to let a scout pass by them at the gate. “The city cannot risk you for such a gamble, and I will not risk Anora taking offense to the head of a foreign power trouncing Tevinter in her city.”

“I understand that, Evie, but-”

“There are no arguments I will hear.”

His hand caught her arm once they paced up the stairs, slowing her and urging her to turn towards him. She ripped away from his bare pressure, but faced him of her own accord. His face was tense as he gazed down towards her, intense eyes crinkled at the corners.

“Evie, I was trained to lead men in battle, I could be of-”

“A city militia! Not whatever it is we are cobbling together here for this foolish mission. I have allowed you to stay, and you are here by _my_ grace alone. I _will_ have you stay behind this time, and that is the end of it. Do not tempt my ire.”

His eyes finally softened, and she glared into them, jaw so tight that her back teeth ached. He would not try to sweeten her temper. She would not risk him, or a diplomatic incident. As much as he despised him, he needed to live; her issue was with the man and not the monarch. He was a good leader for Starkhaven.

“This isn't about you or I, but our home. The Free Marches are better with you in power there.”

It was easier to say than she had anticipated, to allow it. The idea that his insistent and unrelenting good nature in the face of her spite was wearing her down had crossed her mind, but she would not allow him to wriggle past her defenses so easily. He might be the ally of the Inquisition, but he was a personal liability.

“That's kind of you to say, Evie.”

“No, it wasn't. It was truth. Stay behind or go home, Sebastian, those are your only options.”

“As my Lady commands,” he said at last the slight gravel in his voice roughened by restrained annoyance. Despite that, the incline of his head was gracious. “I have to clean my armor that so accidentally was stained, I suppose I should get to it. I will pray for your success and safety, Evelyn.”

“Thank you,” Evelyn said by rote and not by feeling, and nodded to him as he departed. She took a moment and watched him go, but when he paused turning the corner near the tavern to glance toward her, she spun on a heel and marched off. Bloody man. She should be pleased he had acquiesced, but as seemed to happen every time he was pleasant and agreeable, it just made her more annoyed.

She had to argue with a lot of bloody men today. Luckily she had been prepared for that confrontation, and she would be prepared for this one as well. As she headed back to the Haven chantry, Cullen bore down on her, cutting off her route.

It was as well, she was expecting it.

“Come, let us discuss how we will contact the Templars,” she offered, before he had a chance to huff and puff at her.

“If you think they will deal with us after-”

“I think that we will try, Cullen. Just because this is of critical importance does not mean I am negating the need to speak to the templarate. We will need them more than ever if we manage to free the mages from the control of Tevinter.”

“We agree on that, at least,” he said, voice calming as they headed up the hall for the war room. “Herald, going in all but alone-”

“Cullen,” she replied, using her most cajoling voice as she paused and turned towards him. He stared down at her, the furrow in his forehead easing. Handsome face, that- she wondered if he had a wife or husband. Her cousin Sybil was looking, wasn't she? Sybil was excellent with a blade. Would have to write once she'd sussed him out.

Snapping out of those thoughts, she shook her head and sighed. “Cullen. I hate to anticipate you yet again, but I have already been kicking myself over this. And yet? I must do it. I am terrified of what might happen should I not. When I return, I will let you scold me. Any speeches? I will hear them. Lecture me all you like, Commander, and I will submit myself penitently at your feet. Later.”

He scowled, and then sighed and moved to get the heavy door for her, pulling it wide and gesturing her in. “Well, at least you'll listen. That's something, at least.”

“I am very sensible. No one has ever said that I am not,” she said, more a prayer than a reality. “But now is the time for action, and action is not always sensible.”

“Here, here,” Dorian agreed, emerging from the shadows in the war room, a goblet in one hand. “Is everything sorted? As much as I'm enjoying the rustic ambiance of this place, I really do thing we should be moving on as quickly as possible.”

“Supplies are being loaded now,” she confirmed, pretending she didn't see Cullen suspiciously eyeballing the man. “Do you really feel prepared to do this? To betray the man that taught you?”

“I- what a blunt way of phrasing it! But if there is a betrayal to be had here, it isn't mine. It's _his_. And that, yes, I feel prepared to face.” Dorian said.

She searched his face, beyond the casual flippancy and mustache that certainly suited him better than the one Sebastian had woken up with while on the road, and found sincerity in his eyes. When she inclined her head and smiled, he returned the gesture. Breathing out heavily, she flailed both hands in front of her chest, and then flapped them a few times to settle herself.

“All right. The plan is good, people are prepared. Cassandra will be at my back.”

“That, at least, I am happy to hear,” Cullen said, slamming both hands on the table and staring pensively at the map.

“Will wonders never cease,” she remarked as lightly as she could, over the twisting of her stomach.

“Very funny, Herald.”

“Well, I for one am looking forward to it. What could go wrong, besides everything?” Dorian asked.

What indeed?

The letters that led the way for the Herald's return were reassuring for most.

Josephine seemed to share Sebastian's concerns, never spoken but held in silent conversations when they received their correspondence, all sidelong glances and tension in the air. Still, he kept his peace and waited the hours and days without pacing. Training the Inquisition's archers was a reassuring use of time, even if Cullen still dealt with him with snappish impatience and distant brooding stares that he could feel when he did not see.

The whole town of Haven seemed to be holding its breath.

He prayed, listened to the Chant he no longer had the right to speak, and contemplated his choices. Nothing in his current situation made him think he had chosen wrongly; indeed, if anything it was the opposite. He was needed here, and not as a brother or a merely prince, but as himself, Sebastian. He could do good here, and do things many others could not in the process.

Maximilian was on his way, to his great relief. When it came to dealing with Evie, no one could do even a fraction of what her twin could. They were bonded in a way few souls could aspire to, and he would be forever grateful that Max had not been at the conclave, had not died in the explosion. To lose Max...it would have shattered her.

He could not lie to himself and hope Max would help sweeten her towards him, nor did he want to manipulate her to it- she would forgive him, or she would not.

But Max would give her the comfort Sebastian could not give.

He regretted his delay in urging her twin to come here when the Herald and her retinue arrived. She looked at no one, she walked stiff and silent, passing by him past the gate with nary a glance. His gaze swept the gathering and found Varric staring at him. The dwarf gave a very discreet shake of his head, and then continued on.

There was cheering, a buoyant mood in the air that did not seem to free her from whatever weighted her. She trudged past, silent, disappearing into the darkness. Mages spilled into Haven, and word flooded in behind them, soldiers tense and wary, but welcoming. Conscription, they said. The mages under the Grand Enchanter had been conscripted to join the Inquisition.

But tonight, there was the beginnings of tentative celebration.

The Breach would be closed soon.

He listened to them for a time, pausing to have a word here, a word there. No one seemed to know what exactly the Herald had faced that effected her so, but what he heard confirmed the letters. Time travel, a future struck dead by her and Pavus. Monstrous and monumental to think of, but the fact that she had lived it kept him from his horrified contemplation. She had suffered it.

He gathered what he could to prepare him, and then approached the home that had been set aside for her.

There was light inside, flickering candle-light that highlighted the rough path and the stairs leading up to the front door. She was awake. Staring up at the door, he steeled himself, breathing in and stepping forward.

He might not be who she wanted to see, but-

“I wouldn't, if I were you,” a voice came out of the darkness between door and window.

A shadow peeled away from the wall, the Tevinter mage holding a goblet as he walked onto the path, letting the light shine over him. Sebastian paused, a foot on the lowest step, and gazed up at him.

“And why not?”

“I didn't think anyone would be capable of it, but congratulations! You managed to anger her in an alternate timeline. What skill, cousin.”

“Cousin?” Sebastian asked guardedly, staring up at Dorian. “I'm fairly certain we haven't been introduced, let alone made family.”

“She insisted upon the title once she learned we were related. Very attached to family, Evelyn is,” Dorian said, and then waved a hand. “It doesn't matter. What does matter is that you must give her some space. Trust me.”

“So it's true, then. You went to the future.”

Dorian shuddered, face shadowed and inscrutable in the night. “Briefly. And then we set it right. At least for now. I'm glad to have it gone, but she seems to cling to...things. People.”

“It is one of her greatest strengths, yes,” Sebastian replied, glancing past Dorian at the house. “May I at least know what crime it was that I did in your future? To know what has angered her?”

“If you insist. I myself would embrace ignorance, given the chance.”

Dorian turned away, something dark heaved from the ground. He turned around and tossed it with unerring accuracy, Sebastian's hands raising reflexively to clutch the bag to his chest. It slapped against leather with a soft clatter, and he glanced down at it.

“Take your knowledge and let her rest, please. Not everyone can be as charmingly carefree as me. She seems a bit worse off for the experience.”

“If there is anything I can do, send word.”

“Yes, yes. Go be earnest somewhere else,” Dorian ordered, voice brisk and dismissive.

Confused, he turned to depart with the mysterious bag clutched to his chest. If she did not wish to see him, he shouldn't push. She had been through a great deal, and all of his misgivings that had risen with the correspondence he had received were true.

He had known something was wrong.

When he took the bag to his room and finally steeled himself to open it, he did not find anything his mind might have presumed. In fragments, unmistakable, the rough haversack was filled with the shattered remnants of the Starkhaven Longbow. His grandfather's bow.

The one he wore.

Silently he pieced it together on the table in his rooms, beside the intact original.

They were identical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading this, and the kudos and comments and everything. I'm writing as I play a new playthrough, which has been very fun, and explains the frequent but not lengthy posting.


	8. The Fall of Haven

Leliana's words, kindly meant at their return to Haven, were doing little good.

'Take what time you can.'

She likely meant to rest and recover, but Evelyn was doing neither of those things. She was sunk into a mire of memories, things that hadn't happened but had been witnessed. It was good that they had prevented that horrendous future, and that should be a comfort. It should wipe away all the things that she had seen.

It did not.

She had taken heart from their success, she wasn't brooding or feeling a failure, but the starkness of it all was imprinted upon her mind. What it brought with it was anger. Anger at _him_.

Unlike the pettiness and shame, this was the old anger, the one that sat deepest and felt so righteous that she had yet to give it up. Every other hurt layered atop it like a pearl, creating something hard and unyielding. Evelyn did not like being reminded of what lay in the very center.

A crushing memory that never left her.

It began with mocking laughter, drunken slurring of a gaggle of new friends that had somehow appeared since the last time she'd seen him. Other nobles' children, Starkhaven boys, ones she didn't know. Sebastian had treated her so oddly in front of them, so dismissive, so cool. He'd also ignored Max, and that was the far greater insult.. He knew how much such things hurt Maximilian.

She stared down at her slippered feet in shadow, a slash of light across the dark hall from the cracked door. There was a soiree somewhere in the castle, but they'd disappeared and she'd been promised a dance, so she'd come to find him. It was a sin to eavesdrop, she knew that, but she'd heard her brother's name. What were they saying about Max?

Back pressed against the cold stone wall of the alcove, she strained herself to hear.

“-should have been drowned like a kitten. I can't imagine dragging an embarrassment like that around in society. Did you _hear_ him try to talk?”

There was a lot of drunken, crassly loud laughter. More insults, comments, and worse than that, a nasal, honking mockery of Max's voice. Shock was transmuted to that protective rage that she knew all too well. Sebastian knew how sensitive her brother was! Why would he let them talk about Max like that?!

She didn't hear his voice, couldn't pick out his laughter- maybe he would stand up for them.

When he did start laughing, she picked out his voice instantly, so familiar with it. That little hope shriveled inside of her, joined the building rage. She let them talk, though, let them feed it as the casual mockery and insults continued. Evie stood in shadow, listening to them tear her poor twin, her other half apart.

Mother always said to not act rashly in anger, so she stood there silently and let it grow until it began to cool, turn cold and hard and unyielding. So she could face him without tears on her cheeks, cut them all down. She would not act rashly in anger.

She would act deliberately in rage.

When her eyes were dry and her shoulders were straightening, she breathed in deeply, preparing to face him, shame him. It was her duty to protect her twin, and Sebastian knew that. He would know he was wrong, and he would beg her forgiveness. He would get rid of these bad boys that made him act out like this, and go back to being her friend she remembered.

It wasn't as if Evie hadn't heard the rumors. She knew he'd been embarrassing his parents, mother had mentioned it to father when Evie had been eavesdropping (again, not a sin- they were talking about her). They were reconsidering talking to his parents about making a match between them, and that wouldn't do. He needed to fix his behavior, ask for forgiveness.

She would forgive him so sweetly once he made it right and became the person she knew he was.

A step out into the hall, and she heard her name, freezing.

“That Evelyn. Frigid little thing, isn't she? I only asked if she'd fetch me a cup of wine and the _look_ she gave me. Awfully snooty for an Ostwick girl.”

“You can go down to any whorehouse and pay for pretty, she's got no reason to be so stuck-up.”

“They're saying you're going to be trapped with the little sourpuss, Vael. I don't envy you. I bet she lectures a lad just for having a good time.”

“Ankles to ears they're all the same.”

This time the laughter was cruder, and she flushed red. It wasn't embarrassment, the anger was still there and growing worse, it bolstered her. Wounded pride. How dare they speak about her so- so inappropriately? If only she had her shield, she'd show them. Bash all their teeth in and send them screaming.

“Aye, but you've got to get them there, first. Doubt you could convince that one.”

“If you did, you'd probably freeze your cock off trying to get it in.”

When Sebastian finally spoke it was to quell the laughter that followed that. “All right, all right. That's enough, she's not nearly so bad as that. Aye, she's got a temper and she's too stuck-up, and sure, she's not much fun these days-” The little glowing golden hope in her chest that had been rising again started sputtering. “And yes, maybe I'm going to be stuck with her if they have their way, but at least she's not the worst thing to look at.”

Light failing, going dim.

“You're wrong about her, though. All I would have to do is snap my fingers and she'd come running. I just haven't taken her to bed because I want to keep her keen. I'll get around to it once I'm tired of her following me like a puppy.”

Silently she turned around and walked away, laughter ringing in her ears, chest dark and empty.

It hurt, and it would hurt for some years, but when the hurt was gone the anger remained. She never told anyone. Not even Max. He cared for Sebastian so much, he always had- it would have crushed him. It was a memory for her alone, a secret that made every insult that followed in the next year join that anger, building to something that made her give up on Sebastian at last despite how much she'd loved him.

In the end, it was the insult to her brother that formed the heart of it.

Insults to herself, injuring that pride she knew was too strong, should be borne as necessary lessons. But to insult her brother? Especially for things he had no control over, circumstances of birth that made him different? No, that could not be forgiven.

When she had found their bodies in the dungeon of red lyrium, dead and imprisoned together, the anger that had been softening in the wake of Sebastian's penitent gentleness had hardened again. In a future that wasn't, not only had he defied her orders, but he had brought her brother into danger, and they had died. No, it hadn't happened.

But that didn't mean it could be forgiven.

Or forgotten.

As she sat in silence, on the floor before the fire she could not feel, she stared at the battered, damaged shield bearing the Trevelyan crest. She'd taken it off the body of a Venatori guard, and there was a sloppily painted sigil over the crest. Still, she could see the faded lines of the rearing horse underneath the insult it had borne. Sebastian's bow had been broken with his body, but they'd insulted her poor brother by taking his shield from him.

How long had they suffered, infected with red lyrium, before they died?

Had they been confused, distressed and lost like poor Sera had been? Had they turned on one another, or had they stood together until the end? Even when Sebastian had gone to the chantry, Max had supported him, forgiven him for what he had done. She knew that when Sebastian returned to Starkhaven they'd immediately begun writing each other, but Max had been kind enough not to bring it up to her, knowing how angry she was still.

Her twin could not know the things Sebastian had said about him, had let be said about him when they were children. It would hurt him. Maxmilian was hurt enough by people who should love him just as he was.

Well, she was the Herald of Andraste now, and so her brother wouldn't be forced to join the Chantry and give up his art. She would make sure of it. Mother had raised her to be everything Dierdre Trevelyan's daughter should be, and that meant she was one of the few people capable of standing up to her.

Memories of the time that had not been would fade in time, but the anger would remain.

They had the mages now, and they would try close the Breach, and then contact the templars and do what they could to have them join. Templars would be necessary with conscripted mages, to keep everyone safe. Cullen's annoyance, which had been somewhat sated by her choice of conscription and their long discussion over it, would be further soothed by adding them to their ranks. She knew Leliana was upset with her, but would understand necessity.

In time, all things could be eased; a necessary conscription could be transmuted into something more beneficial for the mages. How long had they been held outside, not allowed the rights that were given to the Maker's other children? The right to have families, to join in worship- to join the Chantry itself. If magic was a gift of the Maker, then the mages had the right to be brothers and sisters as well.

They had the right to be remembered, mourned, and celebrated just like anyone else.

Obviously the Circle was necessary- look at Tevinter, and these Venatori. Look at what Alexius had nearly done, unchecked. But why were they forbidden from the comfort of the Chantry, or to build families? Why were the templars and mages deliberately kept apart from one another and denied fellowship that could have prevented some of this suffering? Those were things she could not condone, and denying them too much had caused the conflict they now found themselves in.

She might not have the right to think such thoughts, to plan such things for a future she might never see, to make plans for people she was only a figurehead for and not a leader, but as Vivienne had said...if not them, then who? They still faced an unknown enemy, an Elder One, and they had foreknowledge of some of his plans. But to presume that was the only thing they should focus on was foolish, there were other evils that lurked, not new ones, but old, woven into the fabric of the Thedas that was.

They would bring order to this chaos, and right what wrongs they could.

Even if they were the wrongs of history.

It was a thought that should have brought her renewed purpose and strength, but when she went to fitful sleep with one hand on her brother's shield from a dead future, her dreams were filled with the maddening song of red lyrium and the mocking laughter of a boy she'd once loved.

Evelyn stood at the highest point in Haven, gazing down at the celebration.

The sky above her was uneasy, but the great Breach that had threatened all of Thedas was closed. Having witnessed the closure firsthand despite her continued icy attempts to brush him off, Sebastian was struck again as he had been with the first rift with how much of a burden she bore. At first it had been concern that drove him, but quickly that had been joined by a wholehearted respect.

Evelyn would say she did not want his concern, but the more he came to know her as herself and not the memory of a girl, the less likely that concern was to fade. The space between those two points was unknowable for him, but in the moments she let herself show through, he could see how she had become who she was. Knowing her mother helped that as well. He could see a great deal of Dierdre in her, the aloof distance, the decisive voice that denied any arguments, the judgmental stare, even to the way she stood now, hands folded together gently, shoulders back, spine straight.

And yet, she was still Evie, for all of those things were affectations of a sort- skills learned.

No, the parts of her that had survived from childhood were still there. He saw it in her tentative attempts to befriend the people around her from behind her shield, charmingly fumbling little attempts that she didn't seem to realize no one else recognized. He saw Evelyn in the sharp little temper that she tried so hard to cool, and often those two things went together. Varric was still unnerved by her shouting at him for calling him 'Herald' and not by her name.

He knew that was her trying to make friends.

It wasn't a lack of political skill, for if she had merely wanted people to like her, she could have done it easily. She was much better at being disingenuous than genuine. No, she wanted to befriend them, and he knew how difficult she had always found that. Maximilian was the one who was much more open and easy with people, which was amusing considering how often she took the lead between the two of them.

Max had always said she was in charge, and it had been true for both of them. She'd led Max and Sebastian around like a little general, and they'd willingly let her as children even though she could be a bully. She was still a bully, and he'd be the first to admit it. Evelyn liked making people suffer when they'd done something she disliked, and he was living it firsthand.

Maybe that should have bothered him, but it didn't.

She intimidated people, and it was on purpose to a degree, those skills learned from her mother. Now with this new duty and title, it was worse than ever. Combined with her difficulty making friends, and he wasn't surprised that she was lashing out at him the way she was, with no one to help shoulder her burden. At least that's what he was telling himself it was.

She was still Evelyn, not a statue in a Chantry.

Andraste had blessed Thedas with her survival and strength, but that blessing for others could be the source of her suffering.

He had seen firsthand what pain making difficult decisions could bring. On a far smaller scale, of course, but where Hawke had an easy charm and a flippancy to try and hide her wounds, Evelyn buried them behind a cold stare and silence. He thought he had been prepared for what it felt like, fighting at Hawke's side as they defended Kirkwall from what felt like its inevitable destruction, but now having spent three years as prince of Starkhaven, he understood the true loneliness of leadership. It could be cruel at times.

And whether she knew it or no, Evelyn was leading.

That became more clear than ever when on the eve of her great triumph, Haven was attacked.

Horror had to wait for after battle.

But oh, it was there: in the song of red lyrium in her waking mind as it had been in her sleeping one, in the mangled bodies of the templars she had neglected to save, in the falling of Inquisition soldiers and the taste of blood and ash on her tongue. Horror.

It was swallowing them whole.

Every life saved was a victory consumed by urgency and panic, bodies slung into the Chantry with no thought for anything but saving. Saving every scrap before it was gone. There was never any thought that she would not do what must be done. Roderick's arrival was a gift from the Maker himself, and she had no time to mourn his injury that would no doubt take his life.

She could only be grateful for the lives his sacrifice might save.

“Cullen, I have faith in you,” she said, already in the midst of drawing her blade again, heat blooming in her frozen cheeks. “We will succeed.”

“We will,” he agreed, eyes locked on hers as he stepped back and away. “I will see you soon, Herald. Make them pay.”

Nodding firmly, she turned on her heel and started back down the hall. Most had been gotten to safety, but those who had fought through with her remained, much to her frustration. She would like to do this alone, but knew if she tried she might not make it to the trebuchet. It was inevitable that she would risk lives in this, but that number must be minimized.

“Cassandra-”

“I am ready, Herald,” she confirmed, nodding her head.

“This is shit,” Varric muttered, heading for the door, shaking his head. “Let's go bury the bastards.”

Evelyn nodded to him, but her eyes were fixed ahead to the end of the hall, where Sebastian and Bull waited by the door, tense and bloody. She hated to argue with him in front of people. It was the time for decisive movement, not for Sebastian to be a bloody-minded fool about throwing himself into danger.

He was too important for this suicide mission.

_“I will not argue with you about this again,”_ she signed sharply with one hand when his eyes locked on her down the hall, hoping he still remembered how.

After a moment he retorted, hands clumsy by more than gloves, accent abominable, _“I will not stay behind.”_

_“You will live,”_ she signed back with sharp decisive movements.

“At your side,” he retorted audibly, drawing attention that she had not been trying to pull. It was too late now. Why couldn't the man be sensible?

“Now is not the time to pretend at sentiment, Prince Vael,” she snapped, sweeping past him. “You must survive for Starkhaven.”

“Then I will survive,” he agreed, moving past her and shouldering open the heavy wooden door for her. “You may be angry at me later, I will welcome it.”

She was angry now, but it could be a productive anger despite his stupidity. The first corrupted templar to meet her battered, but freshly-cleaned shield went down hard, as she paved the way for those who followed. The first avalanche had done a great deal of good, but had done absolutely nothing about the dragon.

_A dragon._

The archdemon screamed in the sky, worse than the beast she had seen on the Storm Coast. It would find her, and it would kill her, but she would not allow such a thing to happen before she had done what must be done. As soon as she made it to the trebuchet, she would send them back, get them to safety. She would stand alone, for she was the one who had drawn it here.

Templars went down swiftly, vicious but strange and clumsy with their hideous malformations. Lit by the burning of Haven, they moved through the rough streets. There was no time to remove helmets any more, to remember faces. She would never know the names of these men and women she killed, but she would bury them.

One way or another.

A victory that might be more than Pyrrhic was within reach, the trebuchet ready to bury all of Haven, and she was trying to fumble together the words to order them away from her when the archdemon found them. Her shout was heeded, and they began stumbling away, but she was so tired and heavy and could not flee in time. The blast of heat threw her to the ground as the dragon attacked, ears ringing, mind numbed with shock as she landed so hard on her shoulder that she lost her helm.

There was no time to look for it as she struggled to her feet, disoriented and dizzy.

She tried to glance around for signs of her companions, to ensure they had survived, but as her eyes shifted across the burning landscape, her gaze was arrested by what approached. Something mangled, something wrong, a creature more horrifying than the templars she had faced. Its face was human, but it was looked as if the very skin had been removed, stretched over something wretched. Limbs unnaturally long, it towered, approaching through the flame.

The ground shuddered, the sky screamed, and she turned to face the archdemon as it towered above her, roaring that terrible screech. She had lost her blade, her helm, but the battered shield was clutched in her hand- she would not let it go. Terror rose, but she kept it behind her shield.

“Enough,” a sonorous voice demanded. She spun to face the creature, their eyes meeting as she raised her shield. “Pretender. You toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

“I pretend at nothing,” she spat defiantly despite the confusion in her mind, avoiding a sidelong glance at the trebuchet. She must not draw his attention to it, the dragon could destroy it in a heartbeat, and with it her hopes of people's safety.

“Lies. For I am what you have pretended to be.” He advanced towards her, but she held her ground- she couldn't let herself be driven away from the trebuchet. “Exalt the Elder One! The will that is Corypheus!”

Corypheus- that must be its name. Stone-faced despite the terror, she stared up at him, unyielding, silent. They must be safe. The way back to the Chantry was clear, they had cleared it, they must have made it back.

“You will kneel.”

She said nothing and did not move, shoulders back, eyes cold. If she were to die here, it would be on her feet, with no words of fear or capitulation on her lips. When his towering menacing did nothing to move her, he scoffed.

“You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not.”

He lifted a hand, a strange metallic-looking sphere crackling with red energy floating above his palm. The artifact Solas had mentioned?

“I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

Crackling pain began rising in her hand, and she glanced down as the mark- what he had called the Anchor, flared to life. Already overwhelmed by pain, she bit the scream back with her teeth in her lower lip, tried to force her mind to function. The creature, the Elder One, droned on as he grasped her by the wrist and lifted, and she tried to hold onto every word, but it was so hard, everything was like water. She did not interrupt, she let him speak as he fed her more and more information that she prayed she would remember.

In the moment she held onto what she could, which was her brother's shield, strapped to her upraised arm.

He intoned like he spoke his own Chant, of Old Gods and empty thrones, picking her up and throwing her as if she were no more than an insect. The pain was bracing, and a newfound energy surged through her, wiping the haze from her mind as her hip slammed into the trebuchet.

_The trebuchet!_

Blood in her mouth from her bitten lip, trickling from a wound in her shoulder re-opened by being thrown around. She staggered to her feet, hand finding a blade from the ground, dragging it up with her. Renewed strength straightened her back, and she saw she was exactly where she needed to be. He had been so busy reciting speeches that he hadn't realized her goal.

A rising hope; maybe there was a way out for her after all.

“I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

“After you,” she replied, and kicked the winch, staggering back as it began to unwind. When the monster's attention was drawn away from her, she turned and ran, praying blindly to the Maker that she would outrun both dragon and the worst of what was to spill from the mountains.

Her body struggled, heaved, and behind her the dragon screamed as she raced away from the oncoming edge. Racing past the bulk of the trebuchet, her eyes cast wildly for somewhere to take cover, somewhere to try and hide from the worst of it. If she could find something to shelter under that wouldn't be destroyed, maybe, maybe she could dig her way out.

She thought she saw something ahead, the edge of a platform she could huddle under, but as the shockwave hit her from behind, a foot falling forward found nothing but air.

Into the darkness she fell, and when she impacted, that darkness swallowed her mind.


	9. Light in the Darkness

If Evelyn stopped moving, she would die.

She'd had a blow to the head like this before, and knew that to sleep was a mistake, but Maker she was so tired. Her vision was blurry, feet numb, and the shield was so heavy that she had to lean forward against the weight of it on her back. She moved head-down, each step echoing- if it hadn't been for the strange, altered power of the Anchor, she would have died in the cave. It had destroyed the demons for her.

Now was not a time for 'how' or 'why'.

“The Light shall lead her safely through the paths of this world, and into the next.”

Her mind wanted nothing more to sleep, and so she did as she had done in many hours of boredom, and let it recite the Chant, words mumbled out loud. Comforting, familiar, but easy enough that she did not have to exert herself. The wind whistling by as she reached an exit to the cave was intimidating, but bracing, snow so piercingly cold that it cut through the throbbing headache and numbed the front of her forehead.

She could not stop moving.

Forging out into the knee-high snow was slow, each step took a lifetime between wind and her lacking stature. Each step was mindless, movement without purpose, which she also knew would end in her death. Raising her head, she peered through the haze of snow and the gloom of night, desperate to see anything that could give her guidance.

The trees were wavering shadows, and she staggered towards the nearest one. Her arms wrapped tightly around it as she all but fell into the rough trunk. Eyes narrowed to slits against the fracturing of her vision and the blowing snow, she scanned the area. Her eyes latched onto something strange, a lump of shadow that stood out against the even, trackless snow.

Releasing her grip on the tree, she staggered to it, step by agonizing step.

Gradually it became visible, an abandoned campfire, drawing her closer in desperation. It was partially covered by snow, and when she plunged her hands recklessly into it, the ashes were cold. Still, it wasn't buried in snow. Somewhere in her muddled mind something insisted that was good, but all she could be was regretful it wasn't warm.

Maker, she was so cold.

Shivering, shuddering, gloves covered in wet ash, she staggered back to her feet, swaying dangerously. Immediately she toppled over, falling into the snow with a clatter. Not even the cold could keep away the pain now; but at least she was still cold.

Warmth was dangerous, but she didn't know why- just that it was bad.

Struggling back upright slowly, her balance swaying, she let her mind sink back into the Chant. It would keep her moving, ignoring the pain and aches and the creeping numbness that was growing worse. Her lips cracked, lungs heaving as she forced them to the words, step by step.

“For she who trusts...”

Another step forward, and something off in the distance. Summoning her onward. She moved towards it unthinkingly, sinking into a strange trance of exhaustion.

“She who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.”

Fire.

Was it fire? Or was it a lie, treason of her own fumbling mind? It didn't matter, for she moved towards it regardless.

“As the moth sees light and goes towards flame...”

Yes, that was the right way to go. Yet, when it faded she cried, tears of exhaustion that spilled down frozen cheeks, but her feet did not stop moving. When she stumbled into another campfire, dead and cold, she knew her mind had been lying. There was no hope, there was no-

One of the charcoaled pieces of wood in the fire broke open with a crinkling crack, and the heart of it was an ember.

“She should see fire and go towards Light.”

The words fell from her trembling lips as she lifted her head, staring between the trees, up a long slope that froze her heart with fear. But at the horizon, a shimmer, a glow. Light. Could it be? Be it the Maker's light calling her to her death, or something more mundane, it did not matter.

It was light, and she would follow it.

Step, by step.

The snow grew higher, to thighs, and each step was an eternity, an agony. The light disappeared as the slope rose up before her, but she had seen it and would go towards it regardless. Ice faded, her cheeks tingling, warming as the snow blew into her eyes, blinding. The last of her strength was bleeding from her, the weariness surging, urging her to lie down.

Just for a moment.

No, no. She would not fail the Maker now, for he had shown her the light, and she had to climb. A hand, reaching for her, leading her up the slope. Why that was in her mind, she didn't know, but she reached for it, surging forward.

One step, another, but the hand was always just out of reach.

Finally she hit the crest of the hill, and her strength gave out, reaching for the light that spilled over her at last. She fell to her knees, but resisted the pull of the ground. She could not sleep, could not close her eyes. Staring blankly at the distant fire-gilded snow, trying to breathe, she heard the shouting in the distance.

Quickly coming closer.

It all meant nothing, jumbled noises that hurt her ears, but as they came closer she could pick out voices. Familiar ones.

“Evelyn!”

“I have her, Commander.” A second voice, one that she had to scold as arms slung under hers, pulling her carefully up, and then off the ground. “Evie-”

“You can't,” she mumbled as an arm slung under her useless, dangling legs, pulling her up securely. Her head swam, and everything was just blurs of color. “You can't be dead, you promised. You're not allowed.”

“We're not dead, Evie, we're alive. Cassandra was badly injured, but she has been healed. Varric is all right, as is the Iron Bull,” he reassured her roughly, the whole world spinning as he moved. Her small groan of pain garnered her a soothing noise. She should be relieved to hear those things, but her mind was too muddled.

She couldn't sleep, she couldn't close her eyes even though she couldn't see anything but shapes. The Chant would keep her awake. “But she will know no fear of death...” Her voice faltered, failed, and the tears started again, painfully hot on frozen skin, words tumbling thick and slow. “I can't. I can't remember, I can't finish it. I have to finish.”

“And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword.” The softly intoned words came as a relief, slow and rolling with an exhausted roughness to his voice. It was finished. She sighed, body going limp as it swayed back and forth with his steps.

“Rest now, Evie.”

“I can't,” she insisted.

The noise hurt, but it was everywhere now and the light washed over her. It should be safety, but he body and mind were locked in panic that rose as she was lowered down onto something yielding. There was immediately someone at her other side, one eye pried further open carefully by warm fingers.

“She has taken a blow to the head. She cannot rest until it is healed. Someone fetch one of the mages.” A soothing Orlesian female voice. Familiar, but not, like everything in this strange half-state.

“She's frozen.”

“We must warm her slowly. Magic will heal her, Prince Vael. She will be all right.”

“Evie, can you hear? You need to stay awake.”

Spite, unfettered by manners moved her words. “I just fucking said that.”

There was a laugh, surprised and rough, but quickly silenced as someone else appeared, a new blur leaning over her. When the magic flooded into her, the pain and the hot-cold prickling bled from her body swiftly, leaving behind exhaustion and a quaking weakness. Her eyes closed against the sudden renewal of her vision, a small stab of pain.

“Will you allow one of the healers to undress you?” The Orlesian voice asked, her exhausted mind finally recognized as Mother Giselle.

“As long as it is private,” she replied in a quiet murmur, feeling her abused lips crack. Her tongue tentatively tested it, but it wasn't bleeding any longer.

“Of course, Herald. One moment. Everyone out, please.”

There was a flash of cold air that made her shiver, the muffled noises from outside briefly louder. In the quiet, she breathed in, and heard a faint sigh, an exhale of quiet exhaustion. Annoyance rose, muffled by the weariness to a faded shadow of what it usually was.

“She said everyone out.”

“She didn't mean me, but I will leave in a moment,” Sebastian replied quietly. “I won't infringe on your privacy.”

There was something she had wanted to demand of him before everything had gone to the Void, but she was so tired it was difficult to remember. Something to do with the verse of the Chant he had finished for her. Maker, she was so tired. Maker-

“Finish it again,” she demanded brusquely.

“Redemption?”

“Aye.”

“And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword,” Sebastian repeated, once again falling into that slow, soothing cadence that had lulled her into calm at last.

Shield, that was it.

“Where is my brother?”

There was a long moment of silence, but she kept her eyes closed. She'd been forced to open them so long that she had no desire to do so again. She wanted to be warm, and to sleep, but more than that, she had to know that Max was safe. That he hadn't been close enough to be caught up in all of that somewhere on the road.

“The last letter I had from him was when we returned from the Hinterlands. They were preparing to board a ship in the Kirkwall harbor, bound for the Storm Coast. Several weeks out. I think it was lost in the attack, or I would show it to you.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief, going limp. Max was alive; every other concern could wait until rest. The tension in her mind that had kept her moving through through the snow was finally gone. She could rest.

“I'm sorry, Evie. When you didn't read the letter, I thought it might be a nice surprise.”

“I'm too tired to be angry,” she murmured, shivering again as the flap opened once more.

“I will leave you.” There was a brief pressure on her shoulder, and then the soft creak of leather and the rattle of scale, noises she had come to associate with him. The fact that she was becoming accustomed to him was a worry for another time. Two decades of unfamiliarity should not disarm her.

She managed to keep herself conscious until halfway through her armor being removed, and then she knew nothing else.

Was he still a coward after all?

Why this should be the thought that twisted up in his mind now, he didn't know, but Sebastian had been unable to move on from the idea. When the archdemon had attacked, they had followed her orders and fled, but Evelyn had not followed. Halfway to the chantry he had realized that she was not behind them.

And he had not gone back for her.

Unlike Cassandra he did not have the excuse of injury. He had simply kept moving, abandoned all hope of her survival in the face of such an overwhelming monstrosity. Certainly she hadn't wanted him at her side in the first place, but that was no excuse for cowardice. In the moment he had fled, leaving her to her death. Assuming her death.

Her miraculous survival should not be used as an excuse to forget what he had done.

“How long have they been arguing?”

The question, exhausted and irritable, drew Sebastian out of his fireside contemplation. Evie stood wrapped in a blanket, face still pale and drawn, freckles standing out sharply. Her expression was blank, and when he spent too long searching her features, she raised an eyebrow silently.

“A few hours. Did it wake you?” he asked, glancing past her shoulder at Mother Giselle.

“If you tell me I should rest more, I'll remember that I'm angry with you,” she replied quietly, hands clutching tighter at the blanket. “Maker, is now the time for this?”

Glancing down at the chipped, empty mug in his gloved hands, he leaned forward and pulled the kettle back off the fire. She needed to stay warm. Steam spiraled up as tea spilled into the mug, too dark for him normally, but bracing at the moment.

“It is a luxury they now have, thanks to you,” Mother Giselle replied, drawing their attention. “The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame.”

“Are we certain they could not follow? Have there been any signs? Have the scouts noted _anything_? Where are the maps, the-”

“Evie, calm down,” he plead, keeping his gaze on her as hers hardened. “We are off the blasted maps. We don't even know where we are.”

“Then there has not even been a sign of the dragon?”

Why she was so insistent, he couldn't say, but there was so much intensity in her stare that he could do nothing but shake his head silently. She sighed, glancing back to the argument going on, Cullen's voice snapping out noisily as he jabbed a finger at Leliana. Sebastian swung the kettle back over the low fire.

“They know nothing,” she said quietly. “They don't understand what it is we face.”

“Herald?” Mother Giselle asked.

“The Elder One- we spoke. Or I should say, he orated at me. He called himself Corypheus. He said that he was one of the magisters who breached the Golden City, one of the first Darkspawn,” she said, and Sebastian dragged his attention from the fight, staring intently at her face as his heart turned to ice. “He claimed to be one of those who brought the blight to our world. How can we face a threat such as that, when we fight amongst each other?”

“How can that be?” Sebastian asked quietly, the very notion unfathomable. And yet, he had seen it, he had seen the archdemon.

“I don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if he was just mad, but even if it isn't true-” Evelyn gestured with a hand to the argument going on around the fire. “This isn't helping. Maker, I'm so bloody tired.”

“You should go back and rest.” He rose to his feet, offering the battered mug to her.

“I'm well enough to share what I've learned, and that's what matters, but I cannot if they keep bickering.” Evelyn took the tea without looking, clutching it to her chest with the blanket. The frown on her face did not ease, the crease in her forehead deepening. “Do we have any whisky?”

“I'll have someone find some if it is to be had. When was the last time you ate?”

“Stop fussing, Sebastian,” she snapped.

“Your mood is always worse when you haven't eaten,” he replied, oddly pleased when that garnered him a deep, irritable scowl. Evie being Evie was reassuring. “Good to see that hasn't changed. I'll get you something to eat.”

“Herald-” Mother Giselle said quietly as he turned to head across the camp.

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as they spoke. Mother Giselle would help where he could not. Focusing on the practical would assuage his guilt and give him something grounding; prayer had helped, but if there was anything he had learned from his time in Kirkwall it was the lesson offered to him in the wake of the Arishok's death, after the Qunari attack that had left so many people suffering.

When he had been far more sheltered and ignorant.

Doing something to ease the suffering of others was a truer expression of the Maker's Light than any amount of prayer and meditation.

It would be so easy to forget the humility he had found in the streets of Darktown at Hawke's side, now that he ruled Starkhaven. Ironic that now was the most necessary time for it. The arrogance to rule and the humility to do it well- a difficult balance, but to forget it was to fail at the task he had given himself.

“Flissa,” he said, approaching the tent where busy hands worked at building food out of what little they had saved. The barmaid glanced up at him questioningly, disheveled and flustered, and as always he had the distinct sensation she was three seconds from falling into a frantic curtsy. “Was anything at all saved that might ah- the Herald was hoping for some whisky, I told her I would ask at least.”

“If it is to be had, she shall have it,” Flissa replied, elbows-deep in dough. “I'll have to look. Just- just give me a moment, your highness.”

As she began trying to free herself, he lifted both hands placatingly, insisting, “just point me to it. I'm perfectly capable of opening a crate or two.”

“Just over there.” She nodded with her chin at a pile of crates and barrels still sealed. “What was already on a cart, I'm afraid everything else went up in the fire that I nearly went up in as well. Andraste's blessings. I cannot believe she brought the Herald back to us.”

He moved a small crate of withering root vegetables off of a barrel, levering off the lid to peer within. “Apples?”

“Oh _good_. Maker, it's all such a mess. I had someone make me a list of what we had, but I lost it somewhere and no one has any ink. I've got people whittling spoons, Threnn can't find a single scrap of fabric to make more blankets, but for some reason we've two barrels of dried bull p-” The thudding of fists into dough that had accompanied her words went silent, and Sebastian glanced up from a crate of mixed goods into a very wide-eyed stare. “I'm talking too much. I'm so sorry, your highness.”

“Not at all. I'm very grateful to you for what you've managed-” A soft clinking of bottles sounded from the bottom of the crate, and he gave a faint 'ah' and pulled a pair out. Orlesian brandy. Well, it'd have to do. At least it wasn't wine, Evie couldn't handle wine. He put one of the bottles back and returned everything to its place. “Once I've seen to the Herald's dinner, I'd be happy to come give you a hand.”

“You, your highness? You can cook?” The stare, if anything, grew more owlish.

“I was a brother in the Chantry, Flissa. I can make a loaf of bread and stew, at the very least. We didn't feed the hungry raw meat.” Moving for the large open hearth they had cobbled together, he picked a bowl from the stack laid out. “Is this stew all right to take?”

“Oh, yes. It's just pottage, take what you want, I'll just add more to it,” she assured, still sounding flustered. “I'm so sorry we haven't anything better. Everyone's been doing their best, but we only have what we have.”

“This is won-”

Behind them, a voice lifted in familiar song. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes immediately finding Evie in the distance as she stood, Mother Giselle at her side. He wasn't the only one, everyone had quieted, the incessant argument stilled. Voices raised, one or two and then a dozen, and more as people gathered. A moment of fellowship, an acknowledgment of what they had went through, and _survived_.

It was as if he could feel the strife bleeding from the atmosphere as faith was reaffirmed once more.

That the focus of it was upon her was the only reason he wasn't joining the benediction. It wasn't that his faith was any less- far from it. But the moment he had focused in on her face, he could see in her eyes the fear. It was there for only a moment, before training took over and she gentled her face, listening to the Inquisition pouring its hearts out in triumphant song that denied the attempt at death and destruction.

Defiance and conviction, belief that she had returned to them from the dead.

How could he blame her for being afraid?

The time was he would have presumed her faithless for fear, but he understood more now. Just because the Maker had called her for this, to be a beacon of hope when the night was darkest, did not mean she wasn't Evie. It was that humility, again, that was so needed to balance the arrogance of leadership. If she weren't afraid, he would be more concerned.

This was why he had been brought back to her side- this was why he was here. And so as he watched her, his faith was also reaffirmed. He would do whatever he must to keep her from drowning in this sea of tribulation, and he would not fail her again.

Bravery was not the absence of fear, but doing what must be done regardless.


	10. The Ice Maiden of House Trevelyan

Doubt was washed away in the rising sun that cast its glow over her.

Panting, struggling upright, she gazed down from atop the peak, glancing sidelong at Solas. He offered her a small smile and incline of his head, which she returned with more sobriety.

“Skyhold,” he said, indicating the panorama before them with a gesture of his staff.

“It's beautiful,” she breathed, gazing across the imposing fortress standing sentinel in the sun. “Maker. I apologize for ever questioning you, Solas.”

“Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence,” Solas said mildly, which for some reason annoyed her.

Now was not the time to be prickly. Politically, a poor choice, and emotionally, she knew the prickling wasn't meant for him, he wasn't speaking of her and all the claims swirling around her. After the mess at Haven, her thoughts were beginning to feel rather murky, a mire of uncertainty and doubt that she felt guilty about. Andraste had not given her the Anchor. It had been a mistake.

These thoughts were not for now, and the emotions must be suppressed- everyone was counting on her.

Blackwall's breathed exclamation as he trudged up to the ridge pulled her out of her staring and internal mooning. Spinning, she shook her head and moved to help Vivienne up beside her, the others stretching behind in a line, following one after another, most of the Inquisition forging an easier route for the more laden members of their party. Sebastian was towards the rear. Where she'd ordered him so she didn't have to deal with him.

The last thing she wanted was to confess her doubts- he would take it as an opportunity to preach at her again.

“Who knew I would ever become accustomed to scouting through mountains?” she quipped tiredly, nodding her head to Cassandra as Blackwall heaved her up.

“Maker...look at it,” she breathed, straightening up. Words seemed to fail Cassandra from there, and so Evelyn left them there to help the others up, following Solas as he headed down the slope.

The way ahead, thankfully, for once seemed perfectly straightforward, she could see the way the slope skirted gently down to a more even area before the great bridge that led to the fortress. No doubt there had been a road once, and hopefully there was some remnant beneath the snow that could be utilized for their purposes.

“The walls look sturdy, though I see some small gaps,” she remarked, gesturing to the tops. “Thankfully it does not seem to be in the foundations, but the top. I suppose a closer examination will wait until we arrive.”

“Already making plans, Herald?”

She laughed to herself, shaking her head. “My mind will not rest until it is certain we are safe, Solas.”

“After what you suffered, caution is understandable.”

“Caution? Paranoia,” she quipped.

“Both have their uses,” he said mildly, gesturing for her to precede him.

As the distance between her and Skyhold lessened, step by step, she felt a new surge of energy in her weary legs. This must be it. The place where they could settle, with no more attempts at petty land-grabbing by Orlesians, hindered by lack of security and lack of gravitas. This was a place that would inspire, be it respect or fear- both had their uses.

“Fear to my enemies, respect to my allies,” she murmured to herself.

“Hmmh?”

Glancing back at Solas, she smiled lopsidedly, admitting, “it's something my mother always says. We must always act in a manner that brings fear to our enemies, and garners us the respect of our allies.”

“What an interesting woman she must be.”

“Oh aye,” Evelyn agreed, smiling faintly to herself. “Very interesting.”

Any further conversation was had without her, for as they approached her eyes were scanning every crenelation, every tower. The great tower that fronted the bridge seemed intact, as did the bridge itself, but as they grew close she realized that it was not, in fact, the entrance. Ignoring the steep rise, they trudged around, loomed over thoroughly by the gray bulk awaiting them.

Around the side of the tower, a steep drop led to a much gentler incline up to Skyhold, a valley cut by a frozen river, and more than that...

“A road,” she sighed in relief, seeing the remnants of it leading up to a more reasonable entrance to the great bridge, an ancient drawbridge let down, one chain rusted and snapped. The road stretched off into the distance, disappearing in places, broken in others, but still existing. It would need repairing.

“Doubtless a path through the mountains we can secure for our allies,” Solas agreed, leaning against his staff.

“Maker, it's a sight. I'm feeling impatient.”

“By all means.” He gestured, and she smiled and nodded as she moved past him.

No, she wasn't in the least bit weary now, skirting the slope and heading down into the valley. The way they had come was far more difficult than the one that had originally been intended, but having been working utterly blind and from the wrong direction, certainly no one could fault her. Approaching the great drawbridge, snow dusting its surface blown into grooves by the wind, she carefully placed a foot atop it. Here it was set into a carved impression in the stone, but soon her feet would be over air, and she would rather it not drop her.

What an anti-climactic ending to this whole journey that would be.

When the time-hardened wood failed to even creak beneath her feet, thick and impossibly heavy, she steeled herself and began crossing it, chin up. Caked snow fell from the crevices of her armor as she stomped her feet, freeing her at last from the everlasting chill soaking through every crack. Dry and warm, and _clean_. She'd give anything for it right about now.

But who knew how intact this place was? They might still be relegated to tents even now, though the wood of the drawbridge being intact was hopeful. The cold of the mountains and the lack of any life might have preserved more than anyone would think possible. After all, it couldn't be warm enough to rot too much.

Passing through the gatehouse, she glanced high above, examining the gate. Possibly intact, it was difficult to say- such things not being her specialty. When she finally placed a foot on the bridge, turning to face Skyhold, any further thoughts of imperfections and worry were wiped away.

It towered above her as she began pacing the great bridge, wind whistling past her. With both hands she reached up and drew off her helm, strands of hair blowing around her face as she approached the great gate. It was as if it had been built for giants. The closer she came, the smaller she felt, but her heart was soaring.

It was more than fear or respect; it was awe.

“Herald.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she was surprised to see Cullen was the one who had followed her. When she raised an eyebrow, he gave her a dark frown, trudging up to join her. She wasn't daunted by it, but kept her smile gentle.

He must have pushed ahead, which meant it was time for another scolding.

“What have I done now?”

“I understood why you wanted to scout ahead, but couldn't you have at least waited until I had someone make sure it wouldn't all collapse on you?”

“Cullen, if you think my little feet would topple this thing that has been standing here all this time-”

“Point made,” he said grudgingly, but she could see the smile at the edge of his mouth. His attention was pulled from her almost instantly, a sensation she was all too familiar with.

“It's a brave sight, isn't it?”

“It is,” he agreed, and his voice took on an arch humor, “but it would be better if the gate were open.”

“Hmmh,” she said, glancing down at her hand. “As dramatic as it would be, I don't think this is up for the task. I'll see if Vivienne and Solas have the combined strength to do it, or we can wait for the wagons. What do you think the chances are that there's a big, intact bathtub hiding somewhere in this fortress?”

She could hear the noise in the distance of people approaching, voices echoing in the gatehouse. Cullen shifted, shielding his eyes as he turned his attention upwards. No doubt doing exactly as she had been on the approach, looking for places that needed repair and attention.

“Hard to say. I have to admit, I'm surprised by you, Herald.”

“Surprised, Cullen?”

“When we first met I expected you to be a lot more difficult than you have been on this trek, and even before, in Haven. That was wrong of me. I apologize for that.” He inclined his head to her.

“Ah, the lack of Lady tantrums?” She guessed, and smiled at his nod. Her pride was ruffled a bit at the assumption, but she'd been in society long enough to understand exactly what he feared. “I'll admit that if there's something I feel entitled to I'll make a fuss about it, but that's more about what's appropriate for my station and the Inquisition. Those things matter.”

“So Josephine keeps telling me,” Cullen sighed, “and the few stray nobles that ended up with us after the attack, _and_ some of the mages. Well, they'll get what they get.”

“And I'll get a bath. One way or another, even if it's in a bloody barrel. With minimal complaining, for your sake, Cullen.”

“Thank you. I just find it very frustrating- they should be grateful to be alive, not throwing a fit because we're short on foot warmers, or whatever it is they're complaining about today.”

“We all are. Some people just express it differently,” she remarked absently, glancing over as Vivienne approached from the side. “What do you think?”

“I believe with Solas' aid, we can open it, my dear. Hopefully intact.”

“Gates can be replaced, though I'd rather not have to,” Cullen said, hand tapping on the pommel of his blade. “There's going to be enough repairs ahead.”

“You'll get what you get,” Evelyn teased him as the mages moved towards the gate.

Cullen blinked, staring down at her with surprise that quickly turned to humor. “All right, all right,” he chuckled. “You've just delivered us a fortress, I'll do my best to be grateful, Herald.”

“I only led the way,” she denied, and then added as the gate began to rise with a grind and a faint screech, “and please do call me Evelyn, Cullen.”

If he answered, she didn't hear it, for she was busy passing through the gates and into Skyhold at last.

“Are you all right?”

The question came from above, and Evelyn shaded her eyes as she gazed up at Sebastian, standing on the landing outside the kitchen she was sheltered against. The stump she'd stolen from the wood pile made a barely-comfortable seat, but it was good enough to take in the sunshine. Skyhold was so much warmer than she'd been expecting, but still cold enough that the sun was needed.

“Is it that obvious?” she asked irritably, glancing down at her lap.

“You were saying very impious things. The door is open.”

As he thumped down the stairs, she glanced sidelong, surprised to see him out of armor. He must not have been hunting today. The loose off-white linen shirt was rather Ferelden-looking, he must have dug it up somewhere, but she was fairly certain the leather pants and boots were from underneath his usual plate. An odd time to notice he was very different than the boy of her memories, broader and with a refinement to his features, but maybe it was seeing him for the first time unburdened from metal.

She'd always been particularly fond of his nose and the arrogant tilt of it.

“I'm feeling very impious and angry,” she sighed, glancing down at the needlework in her lap. “The last thing I want is you hovering around fussing over me, though.”

“Every time I help you, you call it fussing.”

“Because it _is_.”

“You're terrible at asking for help, Evie. What is it?”

Frowning sourly, but knowing he wouldn't relent, she lifted the hand holding her needle. Pinching two fingers made the tremor _worse_ , and she couldn't get the bloody thing threaded. It'd been like this since Corypheus had tried to steal the Anchor, Solas had said it'd somehow unlocked more power for her to access, whatever that meant. All she knew was it made the shaking from a concern into an annoyance.

The needle was taken from her fingers, and without even a comment, he extended his other hand. Unwinding the gold silk, she handed the end of it to him, watching as his much-larger fingers deftly slipped the thread through the needle's eye and drew it through. Surprising ease, had he learned how to sew in the Chantry? She waited for her emotions to turn to spite and anger, but they failed to do so.

Evelyn was just glad to finally be done fumbling.

“Thank you,” she replied as graciously as she could manage when he passed her the threaded needle, turning her attention back to the design.

“I'm butchering for the kitchen. Call up to me when you need to change colors.”

“You don't need to dance attendance on me, there are many more important things that need doing.”

“I'm a shout away, and you are my-” There he paused, both verbally, and then physically at the top of the stairs. She tilted her head back to gaze up at him again, and he rested both forearms on the railing, staring down at her.

“What?”

“I'd actually forgotten, we've been through so much. Evie, about the betrothal. I'm not looking to break it publicly, I understand all the reasoning why not, but between you and I, I'd rather not consider it there any more.”

His voice was sincere, which was the only thing she could process at the moment. Why- well, it wasn't as if she wanted him, so- but why would he say that? The spite and anger that had been buried before rose to the surface abruptly, and she gave a small sniff and turned her attention back down to her needlework. Of course.

“By all means, Sebastian. Whatever bed you're waiting to hop into will welcome you gladly. You never had trouble getting women to fall all over you. Just be discreet. My reputation is more important than your c-”

“That isn't why,” he interrupted her mildly.

“Ah. Well, I'm glad I've managed to be unpleasant enough that you've seen reason.”

“I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Evie. But I'm-”

“That would imply I felt anything for you that could be hurt, Prince Vael.”

When he sighed, long and tired, she pursed her lips together and tried to focus on her needlework. Calm hands, calm mind, calm heart. Just as mama always said.

“If we've gotten that all out of the way, Evie, I was saying that I'm not considering us betrothed until you say yes to me your own self. So take your time, and if in the end the answer is n-”

“You can't be serious.” Her gaze snapped back up to him, glaring into those earnest blue eyes that had gotten him away with so much mischief. “You can't be.”

“I am.”

“I told my father he could say yes for me, and he did. You've gotten a yes. It might not be the one you wanted, but-”

He smiled warmly. “Then I'll wait until I get the one I want. When you give me leave to court you, then I'll work on gaining it. Until then, I'll wait.”

“Court-” Damn Sebastian to the Void, he _was_ being serious. Maker save her from the whims of men. “I can't believe your ego is _this_ hung up on it! Is this because I said no to you, to other men? You just have to be the one to get a yes, is that it?”

For a moment he looked taken-aback, blinking down on her, and then he frowned. Expression withdrawn, he stood in silence for long seconds until she noisily cleared her throat. Blinking, he met her eyes again. “I would say no, but it seems that might be part of it.” At her icy scoff, he continued, “but that is me being honest about my pride, Evie. And in further honesty I have to tell you that it is, if anything, a tiny part of it. I'm not marrying a woman who doesn't want me as her husband, and that's the end of it.”

“Oh aye? Then I suppose you'll have to soothe your feelings with every single other woman in the Free Marches and half of the rest of Thedas, because I certainly will not be the one. The utter gall. Take the yes you've been given or resign yourself, Sebastian.”

“I'd rather hope, Evie. When you're ready to be courted, let me know.”

“Hope in vain, Prince Vael,” she replied stiffly, needle rolling in her trembling fingers.

“Thank you for the compliments. It's good to know you find me attractive.” He pushed off the railing with both hands, disappearing from view.

“I do not!” she retorted, too shocked from the sheer cheek of it to stop the words from spilling out, high and offended.

“Lying is a sin, Evie, and you're terrible at it,” he retorted from the kitchen, voice echoing, distorted.

Scowling at her embroidery, she went back to work rather than lower herself to answer his idiotic accusation. It would help her calm. Calm her mind, calm her heart. The absolute arrogance of the man, thinking he had the right to try and win her over after what he'd done. All the things he'd done, all the insults she had born, all-

When she realized she was smiling, Evelyn banished it quickly. He shouldn't be allowed to fluster her, and it wasn't as if she hadn't had people try to court her before. Her entire reputation was built on the idiocy of men. And yet...

Very well, let him hope.

It wouldn't change a thing, but his bothering her was useful now and again.

Inquisitor.

She couldn't believe they had just dropped it on her, with no time to prepare. Surely there had to be some ceremony she had failed at, and yes she had cobbled together something inspiring to say, but with more time she could have- No, it didn't really matter. She knew that, this wasn't court, this was war, but her mind was so muddled that it was all she could focus on.

“Evelyn?”

Blinking, she glanced up from the blank staring at the new war table, tucked into one of the few currently livable rooms. Of course they'd started with a table. A bed would have been nice, but that would come in time. The road wasn't even really passable yet, they needed more than a week.

“Sorry, Cullen. You all sprung that on me rather quickly,” she said, and then sighed and closed her eyes. “Please tell me the sword is merely ceremonial. I'm not lugging that thing around.”

“It's also an execution blade, but other than that, mostly yes.” Cullen said, humor obvious in his voice.

“Oh! How fun!”

He laughed at her sarcastic quip and rubbed the back of his neck, a genuine, lopsided smile crossing his face that made him look remarkably more approachable. “It was high time we settled it. Honestly, I wanted to do it right when we arrived but a consensus needed a little time.”

“Maker. Sorry. What was that about the clearing of the road?”

“Things are on schedule. Our people are full of purpose, and are eager to connect to the outside world. We should have supplies coming in soon. And a lot of curious people.”

“You mean they want a bath as much as I do,” she teased, nose crinkling when he laughed again. No, Sybil wouldn't do for him. Too serious. Maybe cousin Fionna? Yes, she might do well, and she wasn't as young. He should have a wife that could keep up with him.

She would write Fionna for him if he liked.

“Yes, well, we've been living rough for a while. Your next expedition-”

“Will not be delayed too much,” she assured him, with a sigh. “As soon as it's passable for horses, I will be going to search for our missing men and to take care of the reported rifts in the Mire.”

“Excellent, Inquisitor.”

“For the last time, Cullen. We're in private.”

“Yes, but we're being official,” he contradicted, and then laughed at the look she gave him. “All right, all right. Evelyn.”

“We can do official work and be personal at the same time. I find excessive formality in closed quarters uncomfortable, I always have. I spent my whole life with everyone more interested in my title than my name.”

“Is that why-” He stopped, and at her inquiring look, grew flustered. “I'm sorry but you're a difficult woman to read. I'm not sure if I'm going to offend you or not.”

“Just go ahead,” she sighed, “I'm at least polite enough to pretend I'm not when I'm literally asking for it.”

“I was just curious if that was the reason for the ah, as it was described to me, trail of broken hearts.”

“Trail of broken _hearts_?” Evelyn asked, too surprised to be angry. “Maker. What was that, an Orlesian?” At his grimace, she scoffed. “Of course it was, trust them to make it 'romantic'. Trail of broken pride, more like. As if anyone that's ever paid court to me even knew me enough to care about me, let alone be in love with me. No, if you must know Cullen, it started with a bloody bard.”

“A bard?”

“A bard. I refused Sebastian when everyone presumed we were basically a matched set-”

“How old were you?” he asked, rising from the table to check the pitcher of water.

“Sixteen when I refused him. It was a prime bit of gossip, especially when his parents forced him into the Chantry less than a month later. Can you imagine how that seemed to people with a- a romantic mind? I rejected him so thoroughly that he took vows.”

“An impressive feat,” Cullen said, but the humor had left his voice. He poured her a cup of water, which she took with a grateful nod of her head.

“Yes. And even though we were savage, boorish Marchers, it was a fun little story when you stripped the actual reality of what had happened from it. So an Orlesian bard wrote a song about it. It wasn't popular for long, I doubt anyone remembers it.”

“Does Josephine know about it? I'm sure someone's dug it up by now.”

“I'm certain she does, and you're probably right.”

Ugh, the very thought. She still remembered when the bard had come to the Trevelyan estate. It was a surprise, and a very fashionable thing for an Ostwick family to have. A real Orlesian bard in their court. If only they had known it was duplicity.

“At any rate, this bloody bard pretended to be interested in my parents' patronage so they'd keep him around, and he wrote this song about me. About how the Prince could not melt my heart, blah blah, there was a lot of winter imagery. You know, waiting for spring, all that.” She sipped her water, wetting a throat that dried too quickly in the mountain air.

“Ugh. Orlesians.”

“He performed it one night and then proposed marriage to me. He was some Chevalier's son or something, I don't know. But he'd barely ever spoken to me! The bloody man had convinced himself that I was waiting for his infatuation and despite not even knowing me, he threw himself at my feet and promised he would be the one to 'melt the ice from my maiden heart'. And yes, that is what he said. I remember.”

Oh, did she remember.

She remembered all five of her brothers descending on the git and throwing him bodily out of the city and into the river. She'd followed to enjoy the splash. It was either that or leave him to Mother, and Mother would have been much, much worse.

“Maker, that sounds-”

“Hilarious in retrospect, quite honestly. I haven't spoken of it in years, but it is-” When Cullen began laughing, she cracked a smile herself, head ducking. Somehow some of the venom had leached from the memory, leaving behind the sheer ridiculousness of that unexpected confrontation and assault to her pride. “It is a bit funny. He was so dramatic.”

They laughed for a few moments, ending in a sigh from her and a slow shake of his head. Glancing down at her water, she lifted it in a salute. “At any rate, that's how it started. Bloody bard made me sound like a challenge or whatever the fools convinced themselves I was. I was grateful when no other songs followed it, Andraste knows there's enough of the made-up stories and twisted gossip to write a whole play about the ice maiden of House Trevelyan. Oh Maker, I shouldn't have said that, I've cursed myself.”

“You probably have,” Cullen said, smiling when she groaned and dropped her head. “Hopefully whatever it is, you'll be able to laugh about it as well.”

“I'm terrible at laughing about things that offend me,” she admitted, picking up one of the markers on the edge of the table and turning it over in her fingers. “I mostly just sit on them like a broody hen. Cullen, have you kept to your vows?”

“My- no, I no longer consider myself a part of the Order, as I said before,” he replied, sounding puzzled.

“I was just curious. It must be difficult, with the life you've led, to enjoy any sort of romance.”

“I are you asking about my past romances, Evelyn?” he asked, looking vaguely befuddled.

“No, Maker no. I was just saying, if you're interested, I'd be happy to make some introductions. Having someone to write to and get to know can make things go a bit easier,” she said, smiling to him with a tilt of her head. “I have a lot of very pretty and interesting cousins of various degrees of separation.”

His smile faded, and a pensive look followed. She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but he didn't seem to see it, staring past her and not at her. When his eyes focused in again, his face wasn't nearly as relaxed. She'd stepped in it, then. Damn.

“As much as I appreciate the offer-”

“Which doesn't seem to be much.”

“Sorry. I'm not really thinking about things like that,” he said, turning his attention back to the war table.

“Perfectly fair, Cullen. Shall we discuss supplies for the trek? I'd like to take as little as possible to not stretch things too thinly here at Skyhold, but we should still discuss setting up permanent encampments on our trek. If for no other reason than to scout for stray demons after I close the rifts.” It was an opening she took as smoothly as she could, hopefully to assuage whatever upset she'd given him. She'd handled it delicately and graciously, at least.

She of all people knew that a no must be respected, especially in matters of the heart.

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some days it's easier to write than others! I probably won't always be able to update this fast, haha. >D


	11. Home

The road back to Skyhold spread before them at last.

Passing by the soldiers industriously working had bolstered her for the last section of this trek, but now they were at the final stretch and light was fading. They wouldn't make it back tonight. Despair at that thought, which she thought she had stifled behind a bland expression, but something must have shone through.

“The horses are tired, but we could keep going. We'd get in pretty damn late, though. Or early.”

Glancing away from her contemplation of the patched road, she met Varric's eyes and smiled as best she could. It obviously didn't work, because he gave her a raised eyebrow. Glancing past his shoulder as people started unloading their beasts, she resigned herself. No, ordering everyone back in the saddle would not be a popular request.

“One last night of camp isn't the end of the world,” she replied to Varric, hand resting on the side of the Forder that had borne her so patiently through the muck. He had certainly lived up to his breed's name. She still didn't feel ready to name him, though. Not just yet. “Am I really looking so gloomy? I tried to hide it.”

“Maybe a little,” Varric replied, chuckling at her grimace. “Hey, people watching is my passion, what can I say?”

Tiredly, Evelyn sorted through her options mentally, scanning the camp. No, tents were already going up, it was too late. No point in bothering people too much just because she wanted to be clean and inside something that wasn't made of canvas.

“I'll tend to your beast if you set up my tent?” she asked hopefully, knowing how much he despised taking care of the horses.

“You've got yourself a deal..”

“Remember what I said before about never feeling clean again?”

“Hmm? After the Storm Coast, right?”

“I had no idea what I was talking about,” she said grimly, and he laughed. “We went from arse deep in demons to arse deep in-” She stopped abruptly, gesturing to finish the thought.

“Whatever the hell that was. Mud full of corpses who were not quite dead enough for my taste.”

“Aye. You had it worse than I, but I don't think anyone could claim a bit of that was _good._ ”

“I don't know, watching Choir Boy try to clean his pretty white armor every night was kind of funny,” Varric said, taking the bundle of her tent and slinging it over his shoulder as he sauntered away.

Evelyn smiled to herself and shook her head, turning back to the very patient animal.

One last night, and then freedom from armor and whatever remnants of muck had worn their way into her armor and refused to be excised. She'd tried to wash, but it seemed to stick. At least everyone was suffering as much as she.

They commiserated around the fire that night, but she still felt on the outside of it all. They'd all suffered a great deal in the Fallow Mire, and she'd done her best not to make anyone think she felt above any of it. It was hard.

Why did people seem to like Sebastian more? He was a Prince. And yet, even despite Varric's lingering distrust of him, everyone else was more relaxed around him than her. It bothered her, but it was a petty little hurt. Beneath her.

Maybe it was all in her mind. But she'd never gotten Vivienne to laugh, Cassandra didn't confide in her, and even Cousin Dorian had sat next to Sebastian at the fire instead of her that night. It made her feel like a child, counting these things as if she were keeping score, but it made her all too aware that she was still as she always had been.

Not a likable person.

She brushed it off, deciding it was indeed all in her mind. No one had ever given her an indication that they actively disliked her except Sera, and that had faded over time. The strange boy that followed Solas around seemed afraid of her openly, but she paid him no heed and he stayed out of her way. Everyone else? She just felt like a piece of a puzzle that hadn't been cut quite right. Didn't fit.

Maybe that was just what she was doomed to.

It had her awaking in a pensive mood that sunk deeper into her on the ride back to Skyhold. It wasn't self-pity, it was a sudden upswelling of homesickness so acute that her stomach was tied in knots. She didn't belong here. She belonged at home, with her family, with the world in one piece and not falling apart.

Evelyn wouldn't do anything to jeopardize the Inquisition, but with the new knowledge that she was nothing but a mistake, all the misery that had been held back by purpose had been digging itself deeper and deeper. Maybe Andraste had still guided her to where she needed to be, had saved her, but that didn't mean she wasn't a mistake. Anyone else would have been better.

Someone who people didn't just look to for guidance, but liked- like Sebastian.

She rode at the head of the company on the way back, and silently slipped away from the group as people chattered and complained and unloaded supplies. She wasn't needed now. Josephine had promised her there would be a bath, and right now that was all she wanted. A long soak and a large drink and to brood in peace.

Thumping up the stairs, the warm breeze passing by her, she was uncomfortably aware that no amount of washing on the road had banished the muck. Maker, she needed to be free of it. Free of mud, free of armor, free of the need to pretend she was happy.

“I cannot, and I will not spend another moment-”

Her voice failed her as she stepped into the still-disordered hall, eyes welling with sudden tears that came even before her mind had registered what awaited her. Tall, dark-haired, smiling, his gray-green eyes gazed down at her as he bridged the distance between them. Her hands lifted to cover her mouth as the tears escaped, but she couldn't- she couldn't sob and talk at the same time.

Dropping her hands, she immediately began to sign, sloppy and frantic.

“Max! My Max. You're here. I missed you so-”

His hand clasped around hers, silencing her, and then he pulled her into his arms. Throwing herself at her twin, she buried her face against his chest, letting out the silent sob that twisted in her chest. It hurt when it escaped, but it felt so good. She clung to him, fingers twisted in his shirt.

It didn't matter who was here.

She buried herself in her other half's chest, feeling the tears that had refused to spill for so long escaping at last. It was like breathing again. She'd never been away from him for so long in her life, and she hadn't realized until this moment how much it had damaged her. The pain that had been digging its way deeper and deeper into her eased, gently.

When she pulled back, snuffling and breathless, he wiped her cheeks with his thumb before pulling back far enough to speak.

“Delayed. Our destination got destroyed, we were held up waiting to hear where we could go,” he signed back, and then glanced around the hall. He gave a faint whistle, and she laughed. “Evie, look at this place.”

“It's a mess,” she said, unable to keep back the smile as she searched his face. “But it's ours. No more nobles showing up and trying to convince us they own it.”

“Where's my brother? I should say hello and tell him how the trip went.”

It would have annoyed her from anyone else or at any other time, but it was Max and he was here and she couldn't be mad at him. She did pinch one of his stubbly cheeks, though, just to annoy him. Mama would have had him under a razor immediately.

“Firstly, we're not married, you disheveled oaf,” she endured his grin, “and secondly, I've only just gotten you back, stop running off. You need a room. Books. You need books. A proper bed. A bath, something to eat.”

“I knew we'd be living rough. I've been on the road, I'm not picky. If you can do it, hedgehog, I can do it.”

“Frog-face.”

He just smiled his easy, carefree smile, reaching out a hand again and wiping away her last tear with the pad of her thumb, finishing with a tap on her nose. She returned the smile effortlessly, breathing in deeply and then letting it out slowly, composing herself. Her heart felt easy.

When she scanned the room, the few people lingering here were good enough to not be staring, though there were frequent glances.

“Your armor's all stained, Evie,” Max signed, glancing over her critically. “What do they have you doing out there?”

“Whatever needs to be done. I'm the only one that can close the bloody rifts, so where they are, so am I, even if it's waist-deep in mud.”

He took her hand as she uplifted it, examining her palm with a frown. Silenced, she fought the urge to flinch back from him, pull her hand away. If it was anyone else, she would have. But no, they'd promised a long time ago not to hide things from one another any more, and Evie did not break her promises.

He released her hand, and signed, “does it hurt?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted out loud, and then smiled faintly at his nod. “Please tell me you're not the start of a brother avalanche. Angus threatened, but I know he's far too occupied. I expect to see Callum sooner or later, and at least Liam is busy.”

“Alan was talking about it, but Father told him no. Mother wouldn't have me come, but when Sebastian wrote I told Father I was going one way or another, and he handled it. It's not right for you to be dealing with this without family at your back.”

When she squinted an eye at him, he grinned and signed, “a reasonable amount of family.”

“I've a cavern of a room. Maybe they can put up a divider, or,” linking her arm through his, she started drawing him off through the newly-placed tables amongst the hastily cleared floors. “We'll figure it out.”

“Evie, I'm not squatting in your bloody room. Your Ambassador said she'd get me settled shortly, and she had your things I brought delivered up.”

It was a slim hope, but she just hated how damn big the room was. It made her feel tiny, just like the stupid gigantic chair. She eyed it as they approached it. The thronelike chair didn't make her look more imposing with the way it towered, it made her look like a little girl sitting in her mum's seat.

She would have gotten a cushion to sit on, but was afraid that would make it worse.

“Where are your guards?” she asked, enduring his weight being leaned against her shoulder. She was used to that from him. Odd how in such a short amount of time away from him she'd gotten unaccustomed to being touched. Everyone kept such a respectful distance from her here, but this was what she was used to. Brothers with no sense of personal space or respect for their smallest sibling.

“I only brought Nadine as translator, I didn't want to overburden Sebastian's men with extra mouths,” Max replied with his free hand, smiling at her scowl. “I can take care of myself. Where are your guards?”

“I'm the Inquisitor, they're all my guards,” she retorted, and then gestured to the door.

Rolling his eyes, Max released her and pulled it open wide with a flourish and a mocking half-bow. When she swept past him, getting all teary again, she heard him laugh. The door closed, and he endured her throwing herself back at him, hugging tightly outside of any judgmental Orlesian stares. He hugged her tightly.

“Keep your head, hedgehog,” he said out loud.

Evelyn had decided when they were very small, saying anything behind his back or in a way he couldn't hear was the greatest sin imaginable, so with some difficulty she managed to keep herself from calling him an arse. Instead she just hugged him as tightly as she could, until he gave a small wheeze of capitulation and tapped her arm to be released. Pulling back, she wiped at her cheeks with both hands and breathed in.

“Don't crack my ribs.”

“Don't go talking at me like father. Keep your head, keep your head. Aye, I'm keeping my bloody head!” she retorted, and then laughed wearily. “Too busy removing other people's to lose mine.”

“Maybe that should be our family motto. We'll keep our heads and take yours.”

“Worse things have been suggested,” she quipped, heading up the stairs. This time she didn't make him get it for her, pushing through and turning to face him so he could read her. “I understand why I got the giant bloody cavern room- couldn't go to anyone else, but it's a bit ridiculous when there's no furniture in it. Just space!”

Her response was a whistle as they came up the stairs and into the cavernous room. The only thing more welcome than the fact that there was already a fire laid and food waiting was the fact that they'd found her a bed. Somehow. A massive thing, like the room, but _that_ she wasn't upset about.

She'd gladly let that bed eat her alive.

There was her chest from home and a large crate sitting next to the bed. She eyed them curiously, but didn't ask just yet. Max cleared his throat, and she glanced back at him curiously.

“You need a wash, hedgehog, you smell like a bog. I'll pop down and look for my brother, then come back and eat your dinner when you're done getting clean, aye?”

She'd be annoyed, but damn it to the Void, he was right. She did. Heaving a sigh, she signed and spoke at the same time. “I've washed three times and I still smell like the dead muck. It's worked itself into this armor.”

“Lucky for you, then, that I brought some of your dresses,” Max replied with one hand, wandering over to pick up the bottle next to her dinner, examining the label critically. “Not a bad year for Markham.”

“Maximilian Fearchar Robert Trevelyn, that's my whisky, you put that back now. It stays here. You're the one who refuses to share a room.”

“I'll be back for you,” Max told the bottle, placing it solemnly back down on the table. He grinned down at Evelyn as she folded her arms over her chest. “Most of the things are from home, just your bits and bobs and all the things mama thinks you can't live without. The wooden box was from Sebastian, though, we popped it in with the rest to bring it up.”

At her hard, cold look, he laughed breathlessly. “Still angry?”

“Forever. If it's his mother's ring or something I'm going to fling it off the balcony.”

“Dramatic. I'm out your hair, hedgehog,” he signed, giving her a shoulder-nudge on his way past and evading her attempt to grab him for another hug. Spinning around, he grinned at her and signed, “go wash, smelly.”

“Go soak your head,” she retorted, and waited until he left, laughing, to smile herself.

The smile faded quickly, and beginning to strip off her armor, she approached the chest and crate waiting for her. Things from home were an unexpected but welcome addition, though nothing came close to having Max beside her. The armor dropped piece by piece into a pile, hopefully to be aired out or, barring that, destroyed completely, possibly burned into ashes and dropped from a very great height. Ugh.

She would never set foot in the Fallow Mire again.

Down to her smalls, she unpinned her hair and undid the end of the braid, letting it unwind itself as she knelt down and heaved open the trunk. The box she'd been forewarned of was indeed there on top, a polished dark wood too large to be containing something offensive like a ring. Thank the Maker. The lid was held with a gilded catch that she thumbed up, suspicion and annoyance turning to bemusement.

It was...a tea set.

Raising a brow, she took the small note tucked atop the set, nestled safely in padding. Pretty enough, a full four-cup set with pot, milk jug, sugar bowl, and all the saucers, with a design of purple thistles on the delicate white porcelain. Lips pursing, she unfolded the note with one hand, attention shifting.

_In case you need something to throw._

Staring at the note, she shifted her attention from it to the tea set, and then back again, shock fading into an emotion that wasn't quite as bitter as it should have been. His idea of a joke, was it? Well, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing it'd made her smile.

“Bloody bastard,” she laughed.

A conversation that had been going on the road needed finishing, and Sebastian needed to stretch his legs after the ride. Cassandra hadn't seemed to be in any hurry either, so they wandered together. They paced past the training dummies, and he noted all the changes that had been made already. Skyhold needed a lot of work, for certain, but the work was being done tirelessly.

“As long as I'm not training the greenest of the green, I don't see any issue with having the targets across the way here, against the wall,” Sebastian said with a gesture, noting the Seeker's frown. “Maybe down at the encampment might make you feel better, though?”

“I trust _you_ not to shoot anyone accidentally,” Cassandra said, shifting posture, hand under her chin, “but it is so close to the building here. The tavern now, I suppose.”

“I don't mind trekking down to the river encampment as long as the Commander is all right with it. He seems too busy to speak to me about something so inconsequential, so I didn't wish to bother him.”

Busy was a mild word for the back-of-the-head sensation of someone glaring at him every time he wasn't looking in their direction. Sebastian couldn't recall anything in their previous interactions that would cause such ire, but Kirkwall had been tumultuous, and he could understand if Cullen still held a grudge against Hawke. Unfortunate that people would blame her still, considering all she had done, but understandable with the strife they had suffered.

“Perhaps for advanced training it will be sufficient,” Cassandra mused, glancing past his shoulder, expression turning puzzled. “Prince Va-”

Arms were thrown around him from behind, and he froze, feeling the weight of a body leaning against his shoulder. Pulling back and spinning around, he was greeted with a broad, familiar grin in a face that momentarily shocked him. Maximilian looked so much _older_.

The eyes were exactly the same, the greenish-gray that all of the siblings but Liam shared, but there were smile lines at the corners of them. The stubble on the freckled cheeks was new as well, as was the shock of silver streaked in his black hair, the same as Max's father's had been when they were children.

Certainly last time he had seen Max was almost two decades ago, but being confronted with all of those years at once was overwhelming.

“I see you were saving some height for after I left,” he remarked, and then smiled at the breathy chuckle and the broadening of the familiar smile. “Max, it's so good to see you at last.”

“You too, brother,” Max signed, freeing his hands after clasping Sebastian's shoulders briefly, and then tilted his head expectantly.

Protocol took over despite the excitement of reunion, and he turned to face Cassandra. Relief relaxed his smile, as he tilted his head towards her, her curious gaze shifting between them. “Cassandra. May I make known to you Lord Maximilian Trevelyan of Ostwick.” Recognition dawned on her face, and he confirmed it, “Evie's twin brother. Max, this is Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Trevelyan,” Cassandra said gravely, with a slight incline of her head.

“Max. Please forgive my dishevelment, Seeker, I've been on the road for a while. It's a pleasure to meet you as well,” Max signed, and Sebastian translated as best he could, grateful he had been practicing again. Still, he had a feeling he'd been a bit too liberal with his interpretation, because Max gave him a slight side-eye. It was a very Evie look.

Or a Dierdre look.

Cassandra's eyes widened in surprise, and she glanced between them. “I- oh. I apologize. I do not speak your language.”

“I can read lips,” Max replied out loud, and then chuckled silently and continued in sign, mouthing along as he usually did. “But I don't pronounce Common well, and this is easier for me and you. I hope it isn't disorienting.”

“Not at all,” Cassandra reassured, nodding her head to him. “Has Josephine seen to your needs?”

“I've been well taken care of. Thank you for your concern. I'd love to borrow my brother here when you're done with him. Don't go easy on him, he'd rather run than take a hit.” Max winked at him, enduring the raised eyebrow with a grin.

“She's not sparring me, Max. We just got off the road!”

“Oh aye? So you've let yourself go? How do you expect to protect my sister when you can't even raise a shield?”

Cassandra was watching them with half of a smile, a little puzzled, but genuine. Sebastian laughed, ducking his head and then shaking it, glancing up and aside at his friend once again. It was less hard to remember the proper way to speak to Max than he remembered. Always turn towards him, enunciate- he was only keeping his hands still because he knew he'd mangle it.

Max would certainly tease him about his pronunciation.

“Maker save me from the Trevelyan obsession with close combat. The bow is the wise man's weapon.”

“Then what are you doing with it?”

Cassandra gave a surprised laugh, and Sebastian followed, enduring the smirking grin Max turned on him. It was good to know his friend hadn't changed _too_ much. Still the same aggressive sense of humor. It'd do Evie a world of good, she was far too serious without him.

“Just because you look like an old man now doesn't mean you have to lecture me like one.”

“That's hurtful,” Max accused, pausing in his speech to smooth his hair back. “I've been told it looks dashing. I've only got a few years of this before it's all going grey, so I might as well enjoy it.”

“It could be worse, at least your Father still has a full head of hair, meanwhile I'm checking my hairline every mirror.”

“Ah, you've always been all forehead, brother, it's not any worse than it ever was.”

“I should leave you to your reunion,” Cassandra interjected, looking flustered.

“I'm sorry, Cassandra,” Sebastian chuckled, turning back towards her. “I'm sure you're hungry and tired, regardless. I'll set up the targets tomorrow and take some of the more advanced archers, see how they're faring. Could you tell the Commander for me?”

“I will. But you could approach him yourself.”

“I'm not sure where I sit on the chain of command, it might be better coming from you.” He nodded his head as she stepped back, inclining her head to both of them. “Enjoy your rest.”

“I shall. You as well. I am happy to see you are here, Lord Trevelyan. I'm certain the Inquisitor is delighted.”

“Less cranky, at least,” Max signed, and then chuckled and inclined his head.

They both watched Cassandra leave, and then Sebastian was grabbed by both shoulders and pulled into a hearty, back-slapping hug. Maker, he'd forgotten how strong they all were. Before he was crushed, Max released him and stepped back, grinning widely.

“You're not quite as bad as Evie, but still not great, brother.” At his questioning look, Max reached up and lightly pinched his nose.

“Oh. Yes, the Fallow Mire lived up to its name. But we did good there, and saved some brave men. Have you eaten?”

“I'm waiting for Evie to wash, then I'm going to eat with her. I want to see what the letter mother wrote her says, I bet you anything there's a whole section about why she has to convince me to join the Chantry.”

“I thought you'd had that out?” An arm was clasped around his shoulder, turning and pulling him. “Max, I'd rather talk than sign,” Sebastian protested, turning to face him.

“You've gotten sloppy, haven't you? I can tell from the way you're translating me.”

“Guilty,” Sebastian sighed, but was grateful when the arm stopped pulling him. “I should go scrub, at any rate.”

“Good, then come have dinner with us up in Evie's dragon cave. I won't let her roar you out.”

“I'd rather give her some space, Max, she's been less than pleased with me.” He'd thought they were doing a bit better on this trek out, but last night she'd been even more icy than usual. He assumed it was just too much time out, that she needed some quiet away from everyone to recuperate. The last thing Sebastian wanted was to ruin her first day with her brother back.

“Space? She needs less of it, brother, not more. How long has it been since we've all been together again? No, I won't hear it. You're coming for dinner,” Max signed decisively. “If you don't come, I'll be annoyed.”

“So either way, someone's upset with me. A game I cannot win.”

“Sorry, you knew what you were in for when you convinced father I should come out here. She'll be fine. We'll have dinner, a couple of drinks, and you'll see. She'll be feeling better in no time- I know Evie better than anyone.”

“If you insist,” Sebastian sighed.

“Worse to worst, she can make use of that present you sent her,” Max said, grinning at him as he turned and started walking away, backwards. “I wouldn't mind watching you dodge teacups.”

“Did you open what I sent her, Maximilian?”

“Of course I did! Evie's got no secrets from me, we share everything,” Max laughed, stopping short as he nearly tripped over a broken stone in the ground. His exclamation of surprise was followed by a laugh at his own expense, lifting a hand to scratch through his hair.

“Not everything,” Sebastian signed back, shaking his head and starting on.

“True, you're not my type,” Max signed, and then laughed and turned to stride away across the courtyard, whistling loudly to himself.

Sebastian laughed, shaking his head. He'd brought this on himself. It was nice to have Max back again, treating him as if he hadn't made a complete mess of everything. It made him a bit suspicious that Evie hadn't told her twin everything he had done to earn her ire, but it was as Max said...

The twins had no secrets from each other.


	12. Old Friends

“Darling.”

Glancing up from her hair brushing, Evelyn felt the dutiful, practised smile slide into place. Vivienne finished pacing up the stairs that led to her chamber, glancing around critically, one hand tapping against her cheek. Out of habit, Evelyn did a quick scan, despite knowing that things were in as order as she could manage. An instinct deeply-ingrained from mother's inspections.

“I apologize for interrupting your grooming.”

“I rarely get to let it down,” Evelyn said, twisting the heavy mass of it back and behind her shoulder. “I thought I would let my poor scalp rest for the day before we're back out again.”

“One must take care of oneself in these restful moments. We are allowed so few. Your room could be a bit more welcoming, dear, on that note.”

“They're doing their best. Josephine said there's a wardrobe and things on their way. The desk is a bit small, but it keeps me from cluttering it.”

“A settee wouldn't go amiss. And a good rug,” Vivienne said.

“They're sparing no expense, which I'd complain about if I weren't so grateful,” she laughed quietly, hands fidgeting with the brush. “If you have any favorite shops, please let Josephine know. Val Royeaux is easiest right now. Are you certain you wish to accompany me this time? I can understand if being on the road gets tiring.”

“I must insist, my dear. We all have things we wish to represent to the world, as we've spoken of before. If I should stay behind, what sort of message does that send to the rest of Thedas? Not only about me, but about the Inquisitor.” Vivienne crossed the floor towards the fireplace, gazing up at the balcony above. The reminder that this was about 'the Inquisitor' and not her was important, even if she rarely forgot it herself.

Evelyn wasn't nearly as important as the title and mission. Then again, she'd never been important in her life, so it wasn't new. In Orlais they wore masks, and everywhere else they just wore the titles.

“Oh, I'm sure assumptions could be made,” Evelyn allowed, attention drifting to her half-filled haversack nearby, “that I prefer my mages conscripted to the Inquisition rather than loyal. That you prefer word to deed. It's all about minimizing gossip I suppose, not getting rid of it. We can't do the impossible.”

“Especially not with the amount of 'faithful' courtiers lingering about your building court.”

“Well, gossip is currency,” Evelyn said, dropping the brush in her lap and picking up the dress laid out next to her as a possibility for the trip. “I'm so tired of armor.” Stubbornly she began rolling it, despite knowing it was most likely unnecessary. She would not be caught lacking again.

“I thought the Trevelyan family was of a rather martial bent?”

“Oh aye, but even so, a woman has her limits. Even back home I mostly fought in skirts,” she said, laughing faintly at Vivienne's faintly quirked eyebrow. “It's how my brothers and I sparred, mother encouraged it, father tolerated it. On the deck of a ship one doesn't fight in plate, Vivienne. At most I'd have a leather vest over my dress, and that as much fashion as it was function.”

“Sometimes I forget your mother was a Raider,” Vivienne allowed, with a slow smile. “As if the Orlesian courts didn't already have enough exciting gossip about you, my dear.”

“I can't hide that my family history is colorful, and they'll be saying such things about me regardless. Speaking of gossip...”

“I have had word. I'm certain Leliana is keeping abreast, my dear, but of course the information she can gather, and what I can gather are quite different even when they overlap.”

“Please, take the chair from my desk,” Evelyn invited, and Vivienne inclined her head graciously. “Leliana's concerns are numerous. I don't think she'll take the time to compile an in-depth report of what the Comte Polignac is saying about me at his salons unless it needs a short sharp end for someone involved.”

“And while I agree that a finger should be kept on the pulse, my dear, you don't need to know _everything_ people are saying,” Vivienne pointed out, settling down in the chair.

“And why not?”

“Because, half of it is falsehood or speculation, and it will do you no good to dwell over it.” Vivienne laughed at Evelyn's sour expression. “Don't be naive now, dear. You know you can't control it.”

“I have difficulty accepting that, but I have been through this before,” Evelyn sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as she settled down at the end of the bed. “But mother disapproves of the Game, I wasn't trained in it rigorously like you and Leliana. I only know what a Marcher needs to know about such business. And on that note...”

“Ah yes, the Ice Maiden. A bit derivative of a melody, but enjoying a resurgence of popularity. I've heard Rochard is considering adding some new verses.” Vivienne smiled, fingers lacing gracefully together.

“Please tell me it's not about all the other bloody stories.”

“No. With a bit of guidance, he is modifying it to be a bit more...respectful and pious, considering your new position.”

Torn between relief and annoyance, Evelyn laughed, reaching up two fingers to lightly massage her temple as the slight ache that was plaguing her moved. “Andraste bless you, Vivienne. Thank you. I don't know if I want to start hearing about how I saved my heart for the Maker, though. That's edging towards blasphemy. I would really rather not end all of this by being called a blasphemer again. I thought we were moving _away_ from that.”

“Continue to do good work, my dear, and the good words will follow. I was happy to help ensure this didn't get out of hand. I don't think you had as much to worry about as you think you did, however. Being betrothed to the Prince of Starkhaven after so long does make a rather neat endcap to the story.”

Evelyn closed her eyes and sighed, mind racing over the possibilities. “Let me guess...”

“You rejected all others because you were waiting for him to redeem himself.”

“Ugh,” she replied, leaning into the single syllable with all of the weariness she could muster. The inevitability of it all had been there in the back of her head, waiting for her to have the energy to acknowledge it. At least Max would be happy. “It makes a nice story, at least. I suppose I'll have to marry him after all.”

“It could be worse, my dear. You're far from the first couple to get married for sensible reasons, and you won't be the last. Have heart. You've had much more freedom than many have.” That statement was accompanied by a curious look.

“My mother's insistence. The granddaughter of the Storm Giant marries who she wants to marry. I've just decided they're all as bad as each other, but I'm not meant for the Chantry,” Evelyn admitted, smiling at Vivienne's faint laugh. “I do want a family, at least, so I decided it was time to get on with things.”

“We must make our freedom where we can within the bounds of what we are given.”

“Before me sits a master, so I should listen,” Evelyn quipped, and Vivienne tipped her head. Smile fading, she glanced down at her hands, twisted together in her lap. “He's- well, I doubt you want to hear it.” Vivienne gave her a curious look, which she met with a chagrined smile, lifting her shoulder. “It isn't important.”

She shouldn't burden people with her thoughts. It wasn't as if Vivienne wanted to hear her complain about Sebastian. No one really did. Vivienne was willing to discuss these sorts of matters with her, which was as much as she should lean on someone else. Confiding in her was a bridge too far.

“Whatever you wish, my dear. I suppose I should follow your good example and prepare for the road. We're leaving in the morning?” At her nod, Vivienne rose, somehow completely unrumpled despite just having been seated. “I shall finish my correspondence, then.”

“Hopefully no muck this time,” Evelyn said, standing as well to note her departure. “I'll go talk to the Commander to make sure of it. Thank you for your time.”

“Always.”

When the door closed in the distance, she let out the heavy breath she'd been holding back, rubbing her hands over her forehead. Her emotions didn't matter in this, her feelings towards him didn't matter. It was out of their hands.

“You can either wait until after all of this is over- who knows how long that will be, and once no one cares about you, you can break it,” she told herself, sinking back down on the bed, heavily. “And then you'll never have your family. Do you want to sacrifice that just so you don't have to marry him? Would anyone be better?”

 _Yes_ , her mind said, but it didn't sit completely right.

“You might hate Sebastian, but you'd probably find a reason to hate someone else knowing you. Max loves him, and that's important, too, and he's trying to be pleasant which does go a long way. At least the hate is one-sided for now. If you break the betrothal now, you'll have to resign yourself to the 'married to the Maker' gossip, which is very very uncomfortable to even consider. You're not Andraste, and you shouldn't pretend to be.”

The idea that anyone would say that about her was nauseating. She was pious, and did try to be, but that was veering into territory that made her feel on the wrong side of the faith. Evelyn should never consider herself more than human. She bore the Anchor as a mistake, and would turn it to the Maker's purpose, but He spoke to her no more than He did to any of his children.

“If you're going to have to marry him, which is the sensible thing to do, you should probably get it over with. He couldn't have possibly been serious about the 'courting' bit, and once you tell him you agree, he'll be fine with it. It'll soothe his pride. He didn't propose to you because he wanted _you_ , Evelyn. No one wants you.”

That was it, in the end, wasn't it? She had to give up on it at last, the idea that she might be wanted for herself. Not blood, not title, not face, not money, not family. Just her. It was never going to happen.

Who could?

Buried under so many thing that were more worthwhile than her, it was like asking someone to choose a tarnished copper ring over one that had been plated in gold and covered in diamonds. Who would want her for herself and not the glitter? Bitter, frigid, unlikeable Evelyn.

How many people who had never been given a chance to marry for love would have dreamed for the opportunity Evelyn was given? And it was wasted on her. She'd only loved once in her life, and it hadn't been returned.

No one would ever love her.

It was time to accept that and get on with things sensibly.

The last place Sebastian had expected to be attacked was Skyhold.

It came from above, a shout from the battlement landing, a dark shadow that launched itself as he was in the midst of pulling an arrow from a target. The shaft snapped as he went clattering to the ground under a shocking weight, the bellow ringing in his ears as a fist slammed directly into his shoulder.

“Never drop your guard, idiot!”

Wind knocked out of him, Sebastian could do nothing but wheeze as the grinning woman who had thrown him to the ground sat triumphantly on his chest, feet planting to either side of his shoulders. The weight on his chest didn't help the lack of air, but after a few seconds his lungs began functioning again, and he inhaled roughly, turning into a cough.

His vision swimming, eyes shifted from the black-haired demon perched on his chest and up to the walls where a rough chuckle sounded. With a wave, the familiar elf leaning on the battlements shifted his green eyes from Sebastian to the woman.

“Hawke, let him up. You could have broken your neck,” Fenris said in a rasp, giving a small shake of his head at her widening grin. “Or his, I suppose.”

“I think perhaps you did. Marian, Fenris, what are you doing here?” Sebastian asked roughly, waiting until she slung off of him to check, fingers probing the back of his skull. His head seemed intact, at least. When Hawke offered a hand down to him, he clasped her forearm and let her heave him up. A few aches, but nothing seemed out of place.

The hand was, of course, also a trap, because the instant he was on his feet her other arm swung up, the blade of a knife stopping less than an inch from the side of his neck. Holding stock-still, Sebastian kept his face blank as Hawke grinned at him, dark eyes bright with mirth.

“Boom, you're dead,” she remarked, and then pulled the knife back, spinning it over in her fingers. “Getting slow in your old age, Princey.”

There was a pause as she released his arm, knife back to one of its many sheaths, and the humor in her eyes faded. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then she sighed, smile turning rueful. With a quick shake of her head, shaggy hair fluttering, she reached out for his shoulder. A firm clasp, fingers tightening.

“It's okay. I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me. We both said some shit we shouldn't have. Varric told me that you were convinced to help, and I appreciate that. I know how hard it was for you.”

Why he had expected anything else, he didn't know, and for a moment Sebastian was shamed for how he had acted before. It had seemed so sensible in Starkhaven that he should do what he could to stop the chaos in Kirkwall, but at the time forces had seemed like the best way for everyone. If he hadn't been pulled out of what he had been planning-

“It was difficult to separate you from my feelings about Anders, Marian, but to expect you to turn against a friend would be idiocy.” He smoothed down his hair, her fingers tightening gently on his shoulder.

“Yeah, right? What were you thinking, knucklehead?” She grinned and thumped her fist gently against his forehead. “But I get where you were at, too. It was just such a big clusterfuck. We were all panicking, and grieving, and things got messy. I've been taking out my issues on some slavers with Fenris.”

“A good use of time and energy,” Sebastian said, internally wincing at memories of those particular vermin that had plagued Kirkwall. “Whatever happened to the idea of Viscountess Hawke?”

The question was more to get her annoyed sputtering than any seriousness, the friendly clasp on his shoulder turning into a heavy shove. Staggering back a step, Sebastian smiled at her, shaking his head. She glared at him.

“I help better with stabbing. No politics in stabbing. Just-”

“Knives?” Sebastian guessed, and her smile widened. He was forced back yet again another step as she flung herself at him, wrapping him in one of those impulsive hugs that he remembered so well, a hurricane of emotion and force. He laughed quietly, steadied himself. “Hello, Marian.”

“You're stupid and I was so _angry_ at you, but I'm so glad you're alive,” she replied quietly, squeezing. “It all sucks and I miss Varric and I miss everyone and everything is going to shit again and I'm sorry.”

Sighing, he tucked his head briefly against the top of hers, giving a small pat on her back. “I know, Marian. Thank you for forgiving me. I wanted to write a thousand times, but I never could think of the proper thing to say. I was still so angry.”

“I'm tired of being angry at the people I love. There's so few of them left.” She pulled back, wiping her cheeks, smearing a bit of kohl. “It's all bullshit.”

“I forgive _you_ , too.”

“But not him,” she surmised, and sighed at his nod, shoulders slumping. “Well, that's a bridge too far too burned, I guess. I'm just glad you decided against the hostile takeover. I wasn't as surprised as Varric when I heard.”

“It wasn't- I hadn't gone that far,” he protested, knowing himself too well to believe if pressed he wouldn't have. “Not yet. I was assessing the situation.”

“It's Kirkwall!” Hawke threw up her hands. “The situation is shit! It's always shit!”

“That shit is your home, love,” Fenris pointed out from above, sounding terribly amused.

“Well, I'm kinda shit, too!”

“As delighted as I am to see you and to know that the Maker has kept you safe,” Sebastian said, glancing between the pair, “I'm not entirely certain why Varric brought you here?”

“Oh. You didn't-” Hawke glanced up at Fenris, who shrugged halfheartedly, and then back at Sebastian. “Uh. Sorry. Yeah I forgot you weren't with us for that, Sebs. We fought Corypheus before. It was a clusterfuck. He brought me here to talk to your Inquisitor. Also I was supposed to stay on the battlements so the Seeker didn't see me- it's a whole story, and on that note, we should probably go back up there before my ass gets into trouble.”

Bemused by the sudden flood of information, as often happened with Hawke, Sebastian let himself be grabbed by the arm and pulled along. He snatched up his bow on the way, rather than leave it behind, and then followed Hawke up the sheltered stairs, unstringing as they went so it could be strapped to his back once more.

“What issue do you have with Cassandra?”

“I don't. It's a long story. Let's just say Varric is a very good friend who I very much do not want to get into trouble.”

“Ah,” Sebastian said simply, leaving it at that.

They padded up the stairs, and he glanced over his shoulder at the courtyard below. No sign of the Seeker, which was likely for the best. Being between her and Varric was unwise, especially for him. Things were easing between him and the dwarf, and he wanted it to continue to do so. Especially with Marian here.

“I've heard congratulations are in order,” Fenris remarked as they joined him at the top of the stairs, briefly clasping hands with Sebastian.

“Yes! Your childhood sweetheart or something, isn't she?” Hawke asked, half-turning towards him, eyes crinkling with laughter. “And the Inquisitor? Oof, that's a lot. You must have been so surprised.”

“We were friends when we were young,” Sebastian temporized, rather than lying. “I hope that we can be again.”

Hawke stopped, giving him a strange look, but he kept walking. After a few seconds of glaring he heard the jingle of her armor, and she caught back up with him again, shoving his shoulder roughly as she body-blocked past him. Staggering to the side, he kept moving, enduring the stare.

“What's that mean?”

“It means she doesn't like him, love,” Fenris replied, moving to push open the tower door.

“Why not? You're very likable, when you stop talking about the Maker for thirty seconds. Do I need to talk to her? Some of that fuckin' girl talk?” Hawke asked, squinting as they ducked into the tower, pushing past to the north, back out into the sunshine once more.

“Hawke,” Fenris warned tolerantly.

“No, thank you. Interference would make things worse, not better,” Sebastian assured her mildly, amused by the look she was giving him. “She'll forgive me in time, or she won't, and it won't be because I forced her to.”

“Forgi-” Hawke began, and then jabbed a finger at him, which tracked as he walked past her. “Oooh, you fucked it up!”

“It really doesn't need discussing,” Sebastian replied, wincing internally as he remembered how many things he had both told Marian, and not told her all of. Not that he regretted it, but her lips were loose enough to sink the whole Armada. He tried to make for the edge of the battlement, put some space between them, but she was as inexorable as she'd ever been. Fenris looked more amused than sympathetic, raising an eyebrow as Sebastian was caught by the arm and pulled back.

Hawke slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in tight, hand clasping tightly. “Sebs,” she said seriously, voice low and conspiratorial, “it's okay. I got this.”

“Marian, I have the utmost faith in you, but trust me, this is not the time.”

“We spent years together! I know you.”

“And I appreciate that, but-”

“I know you're not a slut anymore. Except for the Maker, I guess.”

“Hawke!”

How had he forgotten the casual blasphemy?

“Not that there's anything wrong with sluts.”

“Hawke, please do not help me,” he groaned into his palm, sagging.

Fenris started laughing, but it was cut off by a creak behind them. Sebastian staggered as he was abruptly released, left reeling in the wake of Marian Hawke being her usual self. Feeling unsteadied, he straightened up and half-turned.

Standing on the stairs leading down from the tower was Evelyn, blinking in the sunlight. The eternal tight wound-up braids and armor were nowhere in evidence, or any other militaristic attire. He was dressed much as he always remembered her mother being, in a loose white linen blouse with a laced dark green bodice and a blue skirt that had been kilted up, the hem tucked into her leather belt for ease of movement. Her hair was left loose, a heavy mass of waves glinting red in the sun, pulled forward over her shoulder. It was nostalgic, and he was struck all over again by how lovely she was, but there was nothing of his childhood friend in the expression on her face.

That was all pleasant neutrality.

“I didn't get a note about the dress code,” she said with genteel humor, gesturing between the three of them in her armor. “I'm afraid I didn't have much time to prepare.”

“I sort of sprung it on her,” Varric agreed with a chagrined smile. “Inquisitor, this is Hawke.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Evie said, stepping forward to clasp the forearm extended towards her. Hawke beamed, metal-clad fingers encircling in a light squeeze before she stepped back. “I've heard tales.”

“Yeah, Varric loves telling stories,” Hawke said, smile fading a bit. “This one was sort of mine to tell, though.”

“Does it require privacy?” Evelyn asked lightly, though Sebastian knew that was meant more to signal him than Hawke. There was the slightest tilt of her head no one else would have noticed.

“I should withdraw,” he said, taking a step back.

Marian fixed him with a puzzled look, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don't be stupid, you're part of this too. It's fine.”

“I can-”

“If the Champion is fine with that, I am as well,” Evelyn interrupted him quietly, and then paused at the wince from Hawke. “I've said something wrong. I apologize.”

“I don't really like being called Champion, that's all.”

“I will remember,” Evelyn said graciously, tilting her head and following as Hawke paced over to lean against the battlements. “Hawke, then. And?” The smile she turned on Fenris was as gracious.

“That's Fenris,” Hawke interrupted, as expected, slapping both hands on the battlements with a clank of metal. “Yeah, listen. Corypheus. I've fought him before. Killed him before.”

“Killed him?” Evelyn asked guardedly, turning towards Hawke now, attention focused.

“Yeah, so as you can imagine, Varric's letter kinda came as a shock. When I say killed, I don't mean stabbed and fell off a cliff until the third act so he can show up again. I mean eviscerated corpse dead. Head removed dead.”

“Dead dead,” Varric agreed.

“So back _from_ the dead. That does make the idea of simply killing him a bit more complicated, if we don't know how,” Evie said, arms folding under her chest. “May I ask how you encountered him before?”

“The carta were coming after me, they led me to a place where I met some Grey Wardens keeping him captive. Somehow he was influencing them, driving them crazy. Whispering in their brains, and...the seal holding him was deteriorating. So we had to let him out and kill him.”

“Could it have something to do with the Blight? If Corypheus is indeed one of the first Darkspawn, an ancient Tevinter magister, and the Grey Wardens-”

“Yes. He was definitely connected to the darkspawn. I figured that was how he was screwing with them. I-” Hawke paused, glanced at Varric, and then shook her head lightly. “It wasn't good. But we for sure killed him.”

“If this is true, it could be the reason the Grey Wardens are missing.”

“That was my thought too,” Hawke agreed, reaching up and disordering her hair with a hand, leaving it sticking every which way. “Luckily I've got a friend in the Wardens. He was looking into something for me, but last time we actually spoke he was worried about corruption in his ranks.”

“Corruption?” Evelyn asked cautiously.

“That was the last I heard, but that doesn't mean he's gone with them. Last I heard he was staying in a smuggler's cave in Crestwood.”

“Was he looking into that matter for you, then? The darkspawn influence. Could that have been the corruption he meant?”

“No,” Hawke denied, grimacing and folding her arms again. “The templars in Kirkwall were using a bizarre sort of lyrium-”

“Let me guess,” Evelyn sighed.

“Yeah, red,” Varric confirmed.

“And of course the templars we fought in Haven were infected with it. It does all seem to be connected, doesn't it?” Evelyn asked, soft lips firming into a stern line. “Maker protect us. That stuff...it doesn't just kill people. It _grows_ in them. Or out of them. Or...it's evil, whatever it does.”

“That would explain what happened to Meredith!” Hawke quipped, grinning faintly at Sebastian's sidelong look. “I'm not going to be respectful about that heinous cow, Sebs. Well, hopefully Stroud will know more. It's the only lead I've got for you.”

“Knowing what is happening to the Wardens seems it must be connected to Corypheus. If we delve into it, at the very least we will be no more ignorant than we already are,” Evelyn declared decisively, giving a small nod of her head. “I have had reports from Crestwood that lead me to believe I should head to the area regardless. I was just on my way to discuss them with Commander Cullen when Varric intercepted me, as a matter of fact.”

“Cullen,” Hawke deadpanned, glancing from Evie to him, and then over to Varric accusingly. “You didn't tell me Cullen was here. Neither of you told me Cullen is here. Cullen. Blond, tall, stick up his ass?”

“I barely know him,” Sebastian protested faintly.

“Hawke, no,” Varric said, lifting both hands. “I told you, I can't risk the Seeker seeing you.”

“Then I suggest you find a way to distract her, Varric,” Hawke retorted, hands on her hips. “I'll give you fifteen minutes.”

“I'm very confused,” Evie admitted softly, glancing expectantly to Sebastian.

“And I'm fucked,” Varric said, immediately turning around with a sigh to trudge off. “Give me twenty!”

“You're lucky I gave you fifteen!” Hawke shouted back, and then turned to Evie again, staring at her intently. “Inquisitor, I need your help. I need two heavy cloaks with hoods, and some directions.”

“Count me out, I have no desire to see that man,” Fenris declared. “I'm going to go get a drink.”

“One cloak then, fine.”

“I could just walk you there?” Evelyn said hesitantly, glancing between Hawke and Sebastian, her composure beginning to crack. He understood the sensation, that tended to happen around Hawke. “Must we be clandestine?”

“Yes,” Hawke said firmly, turning away to head for the tower, “we must. C'mon.”

“Sebastian?” Evie asked softly as he drew up next to her, both of them watching Hawke stomping up the stairs.

“I can handle it if you would rather, Evie. Hawke can be a bit disorienting when you aren't used to her.”

She glanced sidelong at him, lips pursed together, and then she sighed out through her nose and shook her head lightly, twisting both hands in her hair. “I need to speak to the Commander regardless, and I do admit to some curiosity. I hope she wasn't planning to fight him, I need him intact.”

“Hitting things is Marian's way of saying hello.”

“Well, at least that I understand,” Evie said mildly, sweeping after the Champion of Kirkwall. “Will you go fetch my earasaid for Hawke? It's on top of my chest. And if you see Max up from his nap, could you tell him we'll have dinner an hour after nightfall?”

“Aye, my lady,” Sebastian replied, fully prepared for that teasing to prickle her. He wouldn't mind if it had, but instead she paused at the top of the stairs, half-turned towards him, and gave a gracious incline of her head and a soft smile full of gentle warmth. He returned it, but could tell it was the same smile she'd given Hawke. The political one.

It bothered him far more than any glare.


	13. A Complicated Future

Hawke was nothing like Evelyn had anticipated.

It wasn't merely the sheer force of personality (and the size of her, she was as tall as Sebastian), but the way the people around her reacted. She was magnetic, and it was as if everyone was pulled along in her wake. Even Sebastian was more relaxed around her, a smile on his face with an uncommon warmth and ease. Evelyn would have liked to say she was unmoved, but Hawke made her feel both envious and charmed. She was the sort of person one wanted to be around, and to be, all at once.

“This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen,” Hawke said delightedly, holding the earasaid in both hands. “It's huge! Like a fancy blanket! Show me how to put it on.”

“They're terribly out of fashion, they have been since my mother was young, but they're warm as anything and very useful,” Evie said, reaching up and unfastening her thin leather belt as Hawke draped herself in the giant length of colorful wool. “We're going to use it as an overskirt, and then a shawl, and a hood, all in one piece. Here.”

As Hawke stood stock-still, Evelyn unwrapped the earasaid from around Hawke, all too aware of Sebastian watching. Carefully arranging the folds of fabric around the Champion of Kirkwall's shoulders, feeling an odd sort of unreality to the moment, Evelyn draped enough fabric down the back for the hood, and then passed over the belt.

“I don't know if this'll fit over my armor,” Hawke said uncertainly, staring at the thin leather, shoving it back at Evie. She took it, bemused but with her polite smile in place, and then watched as a belt hung with at least three knives was unbuckled from underneath. Hawke threw it on over the earasaid and buckled it into place, beaming.

“Oh aye, that's a look, isn't it,” Evelyn declared, vaguely amused by the open skirt now on over leather armor, with knives draped over top. “Mother would approve, at any rate. Now, here.” Undoing the simple gold stick pin that had been attached to it from her blouse, Evelyn pulled the front of the earasaid closed together at Hawke's chest. The metal circle went first over the fabric, and then the pin wove through, bigger than an Orlesian hatpin. “In a pinch, you can use that to stab someone.”

“Fashion and function,” Hawke said approvingly.

“Now see, you've got this drape over your arms you can pull closed at a chill, and you pull up the back over your head, and you're covered.” Evelyn said, unslinging her belt from around her neck and fastening it back on. She didn't particularly want to kilt up her skirt in front of Sebastian, so she just let it hang to her ankles for now.

“Hold on, hold on,” Hawke said, reaching back and pulling the hood over, the enveloping folds hiding her face. “How do I look? I feel like I'm ready to take a nap, this is amazing.”

“Definitely cozy,” Sebastian chuckled, tilting his head. “Can see your face a bit, pull it a little more. There you go.”

“All right. Let's go see Cullen.”

“Do I get to know what this is about, or do I just hope I'll still have a Commander at the end of it?” Evelyn asked, following as Hawke barreled through the door. Sebastian was there ahead of her, and he held it for her. The numbness that had buoyed her this far carried her further, and she dutifully smiled at him and inclined her head in thanks as she swept through.

“Making Cullen Rutherford's life miserable is a time-honored tradition,” Hawke said, leading the way confidently despite having no idea of their destination. “And if I left without punching him in the kidney after mysteriously appearing behind him, he might think I was mad at him.”

“Hawke, he did fight beside us, in the end,” Sebastian said mildly, following Evelyn down the stairs, his voice more subdued than before.

“I know, that's why I'm only punching one kidney.”

“I believe this may be one of those things that I should stay out of,” Evelyn said, scanning the courtyard as they came around the corner. “It appears clear. We're just going across and up to the other battlements. He should be in his new office overlooking the front.”

“This place is amazing, by the way,” Hawke said, falling back a bit to follow, restless as a butterfly. “Really intimidating. Like in a good way, not in a shitty way like the Gallows. Those statues are all gonna go if it's the last thing I do.”

“Aye, we went briefly by there on our short survey of Kirkwall,” Evelyn mentioned quietly, hands folding behind her back as she paced, fingers absently finding a hangnail to pick at. The memory was an unpleasant one, even from their survey outside of the Gallows itself. “It must have been a cruel mind indeed to architect such a display. All that suffering.”

“It was designed that way on purpose, yeah. Like 'this is life now, you're fucked',” Hawke agreed, expression hidden by the deep hood, voice full of disgust. “We've got to do something about the fortress, but nobody wants to touch the red lyrium. Rebuilding is great and all, but who knows if that stuff is gonna spread.”

“Researching the red lyrium is an extreme priority. If we may discover how to it can be safely destroyed, I'm certain we can spare the men to handle it. I made a promise to Sebastian and Varric, I intend to fulfill it. Perrhaps all the statues will be accidentally destroyed in the process.”

“That would be- well, I'd be forever grateful. Some people at the University of Orlais or whatever would call it destroying history or something, but let me tell you- no one should have to _live_ in that history. Getting off the boat from Ferelden, fleeing from the Blight? It wasn't a warm welcome.”

“I'd imagine not, nor a hopeful one,” Evelyn said quietly, glancing sidelong at the Champion as they crossed under the bridge. What a thing to have lived through. From Ferelden, to Kirkwall, and now in the midst of yet another cataclysm.

“That's okay. We make our own hope in Kirkwall.”

“Even hope needs a hand sometimes, aye?” Sebastian said, still trailing behind them both.

“And what are we for but to bring it? We will spare what we can for the rebuilding effort, as I know Sebastian will, and once we discover a method to dispose of the lyrium, that will be handled swiftly.”

“Of course Starkhaven will lend aid.”

“You don't know how good that is to hear.” Hawk clattered up the stairs ahead of them when Evelyn gestured, glancing down at her with a smile that was just barely seen in the shadow. “I wasn't sure what to think about all this, Inquisitor, being on the outside and all, but Varric was right about you. You're an easy person to believe in.”

Hawke went up the stairs, disappearing up into the darkness of the battlements. Evelyn watched her go, blinking, mind blank by shock. Had that really been said...about her? Varric had said that about her?

“Evie?”

“He said that about me?” she asked, and then cleared her throat, embarrassed with how soft and choked it escaped her. For a moment she had almost forgotten who she was with. “Never mind, it isn't important.”

“Evie...”

The slightest, hesitant touch on her elbow, but she was already pulling away. Avoiding looking in his direction, she began up the stairs slowly, mindful of her lowered skirts. At a loud shout from above followed by a crash and a bellow, however, she picked up her skirts and made speed. Not that she was terribly concerned for Cullen, when all was said and done, he could handle himself, but her curiosity was piqued.

It chased away that odd, uncomfortable sensation that had been rising.

Fleeing from feelings and Sebastian witnessing them, she emerged from the stairs onto the battlement, lit by the fading afternoon light. Pulling strands of hair from her mouth, she twisted it back again, pushing it off one shoulder and over the other. She should have braided the sides back at least, but it was so nice to have it down, even though it did get everywhere.

There was no sign of chaos on the battlement except for a very confused scout standing in the doorway of the tower. They pulled back when she approached, bowing their head and getting out of the way. Evie stepped past the threshold, blinking at the sudden drop in light. Gradually she adjusted.

The desk was in chaos, papers fluttering to the ground, a bottle trickling dark wine on the floor, but at least no flames were toppled. There was scuffling coming from behind it, Hawke laughing hysterically, Cullen shouting. Feeling Sebastian drawing up beside her, Evelyn watched the chaos with confusion and amusement.

“Get off of me! Hawke!”

“Never let your guard down, Cullen!” Hawke retorted, between wheezing laughs.

“What in the Andraste's name are you-”

“Perhaps we should give them a moment, Evie,” Sebastian suggested, loud enough to carry.

The chaos abruptly came to a stop, and as Cullen struggled to his feet, dumping Hawke to the floor, Evelyn turned a dry look up to Sebastian. He stared down at her, smile turning puzzled as she fixed him with a stare. “What?” he asked.

“You had to go and ruin Hawke's fun?”

“I have been told in the past it's something I excel at,” Sebastian said, but he wasn't looking at her, but past her, and his eyes had gone very guarded. Confused by the expression, she stared intently into his face. Had she really struck a nerve, irritated him? It had been meant to be lighthearted-

“Evelyn.” Cullen's voice sounded a bit strange, hushed, and with a blink she glanced back at him. He was staring at her intently, which cut off when Hawke reached up and slung an arm around his neck, pulling him down and to the side. “I- Hawke!”

“Hawke always finds more fun,” Sebastian said quietly.

“A talent. Forgive me, Cullen,” Evelyn said, trying not to smile too much as he attempted to fight off the Champion. “Hawke wished to say hello. She will be accompanying us to Crestwood to speak to an acquaintance of hers in the Wardens.”

“I actually thought I might go ahead,” Hawke said, arm slowly being unpeeled from around Cullen's neck as he straightened. “I-ack!”

“Leave me some dignity, would you please?” Cullen asked sharply, finally freeing himself and tossing the arm away from him, Hawke staggering back and away, laughing. “Maker's breath...”

“I do need to speak to the Commander about tomorrow's excursion,” Evelyn said apologetically, smiling slightly as she observed the two. She knew Cullen was annoyed, but she could see a smile in there somewhere as well. Hawke was so lively, how could one help it? “But I wouldn't want to interrupt a reunion. Maybe you could find some time for me-”

“Now is fine! Now is excellent.”

Hawke pulled a face, hopping onto Cullen's desk, ignoring his wordless shout. She sauntered across the ruins of it, hopped off the opposite corner of it, and approached Evie with a grin and a tilt of her head. “He's all yours. Can I borrow your Prince?”

It would be best to get the conversation out of the way. Swift and merciless, have it over and done, settled. If she thought he would accept hasty, she'd say they should then go to Mother Giselle, but knowing him he'd want to wait and do things properly. Evelyn didn't think this was a time for proper weddings, but she understood at least and would allow it.

“Of course, but,” she turned her attention to Sebastian with a smile, “could we speak this evening? Before dinner.”

“We'll be outside on the battlements,” Sebastian reassured her, smile easy again, eyes untroubled. Maybe her earlier assumption about his annoyance was wrong. “I'll do my best to keep Hawke from escaping, we wouldn't want Varric to get into trouble- any more trouble than he is already going to be in.”

“Excellent,” Evelyn said, turning and observing the chaos once more, laughing a bit to herself. Cullen was glaring past her at Hawke, the floor around him spread with crumpled papers and the spreading pool of wine. “Maker! Here, Cullen, let me help you before your letters end up smelling like a tavern floor.”

“Thank you, Evelyn,” he replied, staring past her shoulder at the door as she crouched down and began gathering up papers.

His forehead was furrowed into a frown when she glanced up from her work, but when his eyes drifted down to her, he snapped out of it. The expression eased into a slow smile, which she returned, and then turned to a hint of panic, “I- oh! Please, you don't have to scrabble around on the floor like that!”

“I offered to help and you said thank you,” she pointed out, amused, but moved to settle the papers on his desk, straightening that instead. It was far more sensible for her to tidy up, unburdened by armor unlike him, but she said nothing as he grumbled and creaked. “You seem secretly pleased to have seen Hawke,” she teased him, righting the wine bottle.

The smell was pleasant, but she needed to be clear-headed in the morning. Still, maybe a half-glass to talk strategy? A small temptation, and she indulged in it, checking the interior of a toppled wooden cup before pouring herself a little of what hadn't made it to the floor.

“Secretly pleased? Hmph. She's always been a thorn in my side,” Cullen grumped, straightening the map on his desk, the corner stained scarlet.

“You can't fool me.” She sipped at the wine, which wasn't as nice as it had smelled, but far from the dregs of the cellar. Acceptable.

Cullen laughed roughly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “It is good to see that...good people survive, I suppose. Even infuriating ones. Maker, I think she bruised a rib.”

“Do you want me to call for someone?”

“What? No,” he replied, glancing up at her again, hands braced on the table. Their eyes met, and she tilted her head and smiled. “I'll be quite all right. You look...”

“Hmm?” she asked curiously, tucking a hand under her elbow.

“Ah- comfortable.”

“Oh, out of armor?” she asked with a laugh, beginning to pace around the desk to get a better eye on the map. “I thought I should enjoy it while I could. So, Crestwood.”

With a small gesture to the map, she directed him back to the matter at hand. And while she listened and absorbed, her heart wasn't in it. The conversation ahead would hopefully be easy and pleasant, but for some reason she felt as if she were about to walk into a cell and close the door behind her.

Childish, that feeling- it was time to get on with the rest of her life.

Troubled in more ways than one, Sebastian glanced over his shoulder as Hawke dragged him along the top of the wall and away from the Commander's office. He wasn't certain if he wanted to have her confirm what he'd just seen, or deny it. Both had troubling implications. The door remained open, but as they paced along, any voices faded away.

“Man, your Evelyn is just...”

“Hmm?” he asked as some of the urgency in the pulling slowed, until they were actually walking. He glanced at Hawke, who was staring out at the mountains, scanning the view. He didn't blame her, it was breathtaking.

“My mom would have loved her, but also been like 'Marian why aren't you like her?'”, Hawke said, smile turning a bit wistfully sad until she shook her head and side-eyed him. “She is- I don't know. _So_ pretty, Sebs, like I would definitely fumble trying to ask her to go out for a drink and make an idiot of myself. And intimidatingly dignified. Makes me feel like I just fell out of a trash pile.”

Ah yes, he'd almost forgotten about Hawke's propensity for going charmingly flustered at the first sign of a pretty girl.

“Didn't you?” Sebastian asked, just to get her to glower at him and push him on the shoulder. “Yes, Evie's definitely all those things. But I know that Leandra loved you just as you are, Marian. And so do we. Just the way you are.”

“Warts and all,” Hawke agreed, moving to lean on the edge, elbows on the stone as she stared across the rapidly sun-setting vista. “So Cullen's got a crush on her, huh?”

“You noticed,” Sebastian sighed, relieved and frustrated all at once. He hadn't misread that brief awestruck look. “It explains why he has seem less than pleased with me. You know him better than I.”

“Not about things like _that_ , Sebs. But yeah, it was pretty obvious. Looked like he'd been slapped across the face. Moony.”

“I remember having that revelation myself a very long time ago at the start of one long summer,” he admitted, smiling to himself faintly thinking of it. A shade-dappled memory under a gnarled old apple tree, sweet and untainted even now. “Before I ruined everything.”

“Well, maybe he just hit puberty!” Hawke suggested, and then grinned sidelong at his sputtering, shocked laugh.

“Marian, that's- come now. Have a bit of respect for the man.”

The stare turned on him was flat, but with an arch, feral amusement in the curl of Hawke's smile. She gave him a shove on the shoulder, which turned into a grab and a conspiratorial lean-in. “You want I should take him out? Get him away from your girl? Darktown style.”

“Evelyn is hardly 'my girl', she's publicly my betrothed, and privately,” the stare was too intense to deny, and he admitted, “she hasn't accepted my suit. It was her father that said yes, not her. I won't have that, Marian. Maker knows I understand that sometimes marrying for love is more than people like I can aspire to, but I won't live in a marriage steeped in resentment and unhappiness.”

“Andraste's tits that's grim bare minimum. She's pretty, you're pretty, ask her out for drinks and write her a soppy poem about her rosy lips or something. Or how pretty her eyes are. Which they are, but I'm partial to green eyes. Do you think she's into girls? Like, do I have a chance?"

"Marian."

"At least apologize for whatever it was you did to piss her off. Which I _assume_ I already know?”

Sebastian winced, and gave a small nod of his head at the intense stare being leveled at him, rather than lie. Hawke breathed a sigh through her nose, turning her attention back to the sunset. He did the same, eyes scanning the glory of the sky behind the mountains. A sight worth watching.

It gave him a moment to consider the uneasiness in his stomach that followed the acknowledgment of what he had seen. Normally something to be taken to prayer, but he didn't have that luxury right this moment. Before he would have been satisfied with a simple 'yes', but that was no longer sitting well, the idea made him uneasy. She was a good choice for Starkhaven, and with no family of his own, being a part of hers was something he desperately wanted to aspire to.

Maybe that was where he had made the mistake that made him so hasty, to ask for her hand without speaking in person.

She was angry, but she had always been sensible. If her father was looking for her, it meant she was ready- why it had taken two decades for her to change her mind, he didn't know, but he knew she had always been staunchly adamant she would only marry for love. Robert Trevelyan was a wise man, he wouldn't have chosen poorly for her.

Did that mean her father didn't know?

Had Evelyn really not told her family what had happened between them, after all these years? The idea of that troubled him- but then again, bottling things up did sound a great deal like the Evie he knew. And here he thought Max had forgiven him. They shared everything, after all.

It had been a fool's hope.

Staring off into the sunset shoulder to shoulder with him, Hawke let out a long sigh and shook her head. “Let me guess, you took her virginity.” He winced, and she snorted expressively. “Well, at least-”

“Hawke, I'd really rather not discuss it. It's inappropriate, I know she would be hurt if I did. Evie doesn't take those things as lightly as you do, she can be proud.”

“It takes two people to climb into bed, unless-”

“Maker, no! I was a blasted drunken philanderer, not a-”

“Yeah, yeah. Listen, unless taking the throne made you backslide, I know how hard you worked to do better. Be better. I know how hard we were on you, and you never slipped. I mean, maybe got a bit vengeful there at the end, kind of an asshole, but-”

“Surprisingly, Hawke, I had an easier time resisting temptation in Starkhaven than I did Kirkwall. Might have had something to do with not being constantly pestered by you and Isabella,” he said, just to change the subject and make her smile.

Which she did, bright and impish. “Well, your Evelyn looked nice standing next to you.”

He sighed, reaching up and smoothing back his hair. “I've only just seen you again, and here you are, trying to run my life.”

She laughed quietly, leaning against his shoulder as he turned to watch the sun slipping below the horizon, the sky shading into purples and blues. They stood in silence again, as they had many times before. She'd always said she found his company calming.

He'd even see her pray, now and again, despite all the blasphemy.

“Are you happy?”

“I'm- yeah. Most days. Sometimes I get angry, sometimes I get nightmares, sometimes I just want to break down and scream about how unfair the everything is, but I'm not alone. I don't know how either of us would have gotten through this without each other.”

“You two make a fine pair. A formidable one. You always have.”

“I want that for _you_. I want that for all of my friends, to know you're not alone,” Hawke sighed, fingers dimpling into her cheek as she slumped forward, dark eyes nearly black in the fading light. “Varric won't let me kidnap everyone and lock them in a single house he says you all have _lives_ and that's very unfair to me. Why doesn't anyone ever think of me?”

“Well, there's always a room in Starkhaven castle for you and Fenris. If you ever get tired of slaughtering slavers and need a break,” he said, ignoring the slight twinge her words brought. She meant it earnestly, but for all that Hawke could have claimed the title Lady Amell and was the Champion of Kirkwall, none of the pressure of the sort he and Evelyn had been raised with had been brought to bear on her. “I've always wanted to lure him in to train my militia.”

“I mean, he won't ever get tired of it, but I might wanna. I'm-”

“I hate to interrupt.”

In the soft laced slippers she wore, he hadn't even heard Evie creep up to them. Pushing off the rough stonework as quickly as Hawke did, they both turned to face her quickly. She stood haloed warmly in the light now spilling out of the tower into the rapidly-descending night, glints of ruby fire in the long spill of her hair, face cast into shadow.

“Oh no, we've had a good chat.”

“I've gone over things with the Commander, and I believe tomorrow will still work for our departure. It's so late, can't I have Lady Montilyet find you a room?” Evie asked, smiling.

“No, we'll go down to the river camp and get started out just before dawn. It'll be fine. I've already pushed Varric as far as I feel like,” Hawke laughed easily, hands going to her hips. “We'll meet you in Crestwood. Varric's got the map. It was really good to meet you, Inquisitor, I'm glad Sebs is in good hands. Oh, yeah, your uh- eara...thing.”

Hawke reached up for the brooch pinned to her chest, and Evelyn lifted a hand, voice soft and easy. “Please. You seemed delighted with it, and it would be my great honor if you kept it. If you'd like. I won't be offended if you say no.”

“I- really?” Hawke asked, glancing between them with a little grin.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that Evelyn's smile was just a bit warmer than her usual neutral, political expression. “Really. Mother'd be delighted.”

“Well, thanks, Lady Inquisitor, that's amazing of you. I should probably go pull my husband out of a bottle before he doesn't leave me any. We'll see you both in Crestwood. Just send a messenger if you get lost or held up.”

“Absolutely,” Evelyn assured, lifting a hand as Hawke started heading for the stairs. “Maker keep you safe.”

“Walk in the Maker's Light, Hawke.”

“Make me,” Hawke replied, and disappeared down the stairs into the courtyard.

Evelyn laughed quietly under her breath, hands lifting to twist her hair forward over her shoulders, fingers raking through the long waves. It was motion odd to see from her- she never fidgeted. It was strange to notice that now, but contrasting with Hawke who never seemed to hold still, it was all the more obvious.

When she stood, she stood still, and when Evelyn moved, she moved with purpose.

Except her hands her suddenly nervous, twisting hair in small, fluttering movements.

His own simmering conflict had him shifting his weight uneasily, and when she abruptly stepped past him without a word, he followed. Evelyn didn't go far, stopping at the edge of the battlements and staring out across the darkened mountains, moons now taking over to light the vista with the sun fled.

“I missed the sunset.”

“They never seem to last as long as one would like,” he replied to her back, before finally stepping to her side. Her hands were still now, and there was a strange portent to the moment. Should he say something to her about Cullen? Did she know? Were there feelings there that she reciprocated?

He wasn't a monster, he wouldn't force her to hold to their agreement if she cared for someone e-

“I've decided to stop being stubborn,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. “I've been thinking a great deal. We were dealt a difficult hand with the timing of things, how it all played out-”

“We certainly were, Evie,” he agreed quietly, watching her moonlit profile in the hopes of finding some clue to her thoughts. She gave nothing away, smooth as an Orlesian mask.

“And mistakes were made in the handling, but life isn't perfect and neither are we. So. If what you need to move forward with the betrothal is for me to say yes to it, then yes. I will marry you. Sooner would be preferable to-”

It was the last thing he had expected, for some reason.

“I'm sorry, what?”

“Sooner would be preferable to later, but-”

“I'm sorry, _what_?” He repeated when the shock continued its numbing muddle of his mind. When he broke through it was with a violent shake of his head. “Evie, how did we get from you refusing to even let me court you to sooner rather than later?”

“I don't want you to _court_ me, Sebastian,” she said, with icy disdain and high-pitched sarcastic humor, breaking through the false pleasantness at last. “Surely there is a place somewhere between assuaging your pride and forcing me to hand over mine.”

“Hand over your pride? As if letting me try to win your _friendship_ at least before we bind ourselves together for a lifetime is somehow lowering yourself? Most would think the opposite!”

“Well, you've always been good at reminding me that I'm just. Like. _Other women_ ,” Evelyn said with a venom so pure and spiteful he was struck dumb.

Anger was one thing, rage he could handle. That was Evie in a temper, and he knew that part of her at least. This was worse, and unfamiliar. He stared at her, and she stared at the mountains with her jaw tight, and in that moment he realized something that had only ever been an abstract before, one more sin in a litany of them repented over but never fixed.

He had _chosen_ to hurt her.

That's why he couldn't move on from this, why he'd been feeling uneasy all afternoon. It wasn't right, it wasn't settled, and he realized more than ever that what she'd just offered him- what he would have accepted two months ago- wasn't good enough any more. She was hurt, and it was his fault, and he couldn't move forward without fixing it.

He didn't want to marry her until things were right between them.

“I owe you an apology.”

“And I told you I won't hear it,” she said quietly.

“Then maybe that's where we should start, Evie. I won't ever demand you forgive me, and I won't even force you to hear it, but I can't marry a woman that hates me. I can't marry a woman that's holding a grudge against me like this, Evie. If you're afraid of hurting your pride, then fine. Take mine.”

She glanced sidelong at him, lips tightened into a line. The silence stretched between them, until she unbent enough to ask, “what does that mean?”

“Whatever you need me to do to prove to you that I am sorry, I will do. I promise you.”

“You don't mean that,” she dismissed, scoffing.

“I do. I promise. The promise is made, and it will be kept,” he said firmly. “I trust you.”

“You shouldn't,” she retorted, hands still twisted up in her hair. “I hate you. But also I don't believe you, so it doesn't matter. What, is the Prince of Starkhaven going to get on all fours in the mud like a pig just because I tell him to? Don't be daft, Sebastian, it'd embarrass both of us.”

Internally he did cringe at that, but what had been said had been said. He may as well get on with it and resign himself, for he wouldn't let this end without having at least put in the effort to make things right. “If that is what my lady requires.”

“Don't be stupid,” she snapped, and then sighed and stepped back. “I don't have time for these games, Max is waiting for me. Perhaps we should both sleep on this. See reason, Sebastian. We could finally _both_ have the family we've wanted. If we get on with things, we've time for a half-dozen wee ones, if we're lucky.”

The shift to the softly cajoling voice and the words themselves brought an odd twist to his chest, in that same lonely part that had made him so rash before. He'd always envied her family, the noise and warmth of it. Even when he and his brothers had gotten along, the divide between them was always there, created by their parents. It'd never been the same.

He'd been longing for it his whole life.

But not like this.

“What kind of poison would our discord cause to that family, Evelyn? What good, loving warmth and Light could we impart on our children with darkness between us? I can't have that for my life. I can't have that for _our_ life. I've made a promise, I'll keep it.”

“Think on it,” she replied flatly, sweeping past him and disappearing into the darkness. He watched her disappear down the stairs, lit by the glow of the Commander's open door. The temptation she offered was a strong one, but all he had to do was remember that venom in her voice and it faded to a quiet purpose. If it was to be, it would come after she had forgiven him, and not before.

Still, his prayers kept him up late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you're stayin' safe, it's crazy out there. I hear. I haven't seen 'out there' in two months.


	14. Faded Memories

“Go to Crestwood, talk to some Warden or whatever. No big deal, right?”

Sera's irritable words were followed by a squelching noise and an exclamation of disgust as she pulled an arrow out of a no longer shambling corpse. Evelyn grimaced, slinging her shield over her shoulder, glancing sidelong to make sure Max was all right. He was finishing removing a head from a body, which she understood entirely. It wasn't as if he could hear when they stopped screeching, and they looked about the same dead and al- er, moving.

“Except, an' get this- more soggy friggin' corpses!”

“I know _exactly_ how you feel,” Evelyn agreed, the rain pattering off her helm somehow making it into the collar of her coat and down her neck and back. Misery. “I'd say at least there's no mud, but I can't even promise that. How are we going to get to a rift in the lake?”

“Wet corpses, in the rain- we've no hope of burning them,” Blackwall declared, trudging up to join them from further down the road, Solas trailing behind him. “We'll have to roust the villagers to gather them up and lay them to rest. Hopefully for the last time.”

“Diverting the Wardens we met on the road has borrowed us some time that seems will be needed to deal with the undead,” Solas said as they clustered together, politely waiting until Max had turned to face them to speak. Evelyn had noticed he always made the effort to do so; it had endeared the elven mage to her more than anything else he had done thus far. Including saving her life.

Saving her life had been practical, being thoughtful about her brother showed true character.

“I'm still not certain how I feel about all of that,” Evelyn admitted, and then sighed, “we were warned about corruption, but for the Warden Commander to be hunting their own...”

“Something is definitely wrong. We'd do well to be cautious,” Blackwall agreed gruffly.

“I'll defer to your judgment in this,” Evelyn said, troubled yet, “but it sits poorly with me to not trust Grey Wardens. Though I suppose trusting one side means not trusting the other, and they're both Wardens...”

“We should keep moving,” Max signed, “if the lake is full of the dead, there will keep being more. Let's meet everyone in town.”

Evie finished translating and nodded, gesturing to lead the way. They'd split into three groups, to clear out as much of the undead as possible on the way to town. Maker, she'd thought she was done with rotting, dripping, decaying, bloated corpses. Now they were dealing with watery mass grave full of them.

Following the signs on the roadway, they continued on, senses on high alert. The grousing didn't bother her, and she didn't feel the need to fix or silence it. It no longer felt like her fault that everyone was suffering. It'd been an irrational sensation, but this was her first time in such a leadership position, and it was difficult for her at the best of times to not take things personally.

Max had folded right into the merry band with an ease that surprised her, considering how little he had been allowed from home. It would be unbecoming to admit that it bothered her that she still felt on the outside and he seemed more comfortable, but she could never be jealous of her twin. It wasn't a feeling against _him_ in the slightest.

It, like many of her more negative feelings, was turned inward and not outward.

They trudged along the road for perhaps five minutes, through the relentless rain. Sera fell back to pester Max again, and her bright chatter followed them up the way as her brother taught her how to sign various 'swears'. It wasn't the most dignified use of sign language, but Evelyn had to admit it had been something they had cobbled together quite young.

Whatever they hadn't been taught before Mother sent their Antivan nanny on her way, they had made up together.

She imagined that anyone who spoke the language properly would be bemused by the Trevelyan dialect. On top of that was the whole much smaller lexicon of words Evie and Max had made up together and not shared with the rest of the family, but those were restricted to clandestine conversation. They had taught Sebastian most of it, but she doubted he remembered.

Evelyn was just grateful he hadn't argued with her when she'd directed him to the other group. They hadn't spoken, and he had seemed pensive and withdrawn. Feeling much the same herself, she only hoped that he was coming around to her way of thinking.

It was the most sensible-

Evelyn caught the edge of a sign out of the corner of her vision, and turned on a heel, glaring at her twin. “Maximilian!”

“She wanted to know!” Max protested, eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I'll have you remember the context for that little insult,” Evelyn pointed out, stiffly. “It's personal.”

“It's a funny story. You haven't told them?”

She translated without thinking, and then glared at him, quickly signing their very rude twin-speak that equated to 'shut up', only more profane. Max gave her a puzzled smile that she couldn't read, but capitulated with a gesture. Sera squinted between them.

“Tell us wot?”

“A joke that I would rather not share,” Evelyn replied rather than lie. Certainly anyone would understand that, no one enjoyed being humiliated. “Due to the fact that it's not very funny.”

“Agree to disagree,” Max signed, laughing breathlessly. “I'll let it go. I'm sorry, hedgehog.”

She translated the nickname before she thought to censor it, and then regretted it instantly when Blackwall and Sera instantly zeroed in on her- Solas at least being more discreet.

“Hedgehog?” Blackwall asked with an undercurrent of humor, which he attempted to sober at her sigh. “I'm sorry, Lady Inquisitor.”

“This is what happens when you have five older brothers, I suppose,” she said with resignation. “Try to forget you heard that, please.”

“It's because she's small but prickly,” Max signed with a grin, which deepened when she shot him a glare.

Why was he picking on her in front of everyone like this? She was the Inquisitor! As much as she wanted Max here, if he was going to repeatedly try to undermine her, which it was beginning to feel he was, then they would have problems. They'd had plenty of minor rows before, but this was bigger- this was important. She couldn't just be Evie, people _had_ to take her seriously.

Sinking back into silence, she let Max go back to his educating, a small resentment sething.

He was supposed to be on her side.

The unpleasant mood continued as they met in the city, helping clear out a few demons before assessing the situation in Crestwood. It was as dire as she'd feared, and a larger diversion from their route than anticipated. Bandits in need of removal, a dam to be opened, before they could even make their way to the rift that dragged the dead from their watery grave. There was nothing for it.

Hawke would have to wait, she wouldn't let anyone else die.

It should have made her feel purposeful, but as they began the trek to Caer Bronach in force, her mood was sinking into a dark, miserable brooding.

If there was one thing to be said about Evelyn in a foul mood- she got things done.

The bandit leader had seemed twice her size, but as one learned in sparring with his wee sister, that just meant she was difficult to knock over. He hadn't meant to put her in a snit, but it was preferable to the alternative, which was closing herself up. Which she was.

Max had noticed it on the way out, but hadn't said anything at the time, trying to get used to traveling with a bunch of strangers. It was odd being out and about just the two of them- nice and different and freeing in a way he hadn't ever really felt before. Funny how being a grown man out around other grown people who weren't family wasn't near the trial their mother had always said it would be for him. Children were much worse than adults. All of Evelyn's personal retinue treated him with respect, if some with more curiosity than others.

Curiosity he was fine with, as long as it didn't come with treating him like less than a person.

“Pyre them, I won't fight these bloody bandits again,” Evelyn ordered snappishly, her broad gesture drawing Max's attention away from the cleaning of his sword on a tattered bandit's tunic. “Down by the old gallows. There should be enough dry wood for the job.”

“Right. Definitely not who I want crawling into my tent in the middle of the night,” Bull remarked, crouching down to heave up one of the corpses onto his shoulder.

“Really? I didn't know you _had_ standards,” Dorian quipped snidely.

His laugh garnered him a sly look from the Tevene that Evelyn insisted upon calling 'cousin' despite their tenuous relation. Not that it wasn't there, but more than half of the Marches could have claimed closer. He thought it probably had more to do with loneliness than actually seeing Dorian as family, not that he didn't like the man. Sebastian hadn't been helping at all.

 _That_ was a problem.

Evie being stubborn was expected and easy enough to work through, but having all these people defer to her and let her pull herself away wasn't doing her a single bit of good. He couldn't blame it on any of them, but Sebastian should know better. The standoffish, hands-off distance made things worse and not better. Why he was letting her isolate herself and watch from a distance as other people had a good time, Max didn't know, but it was time to fix that.

As they all put shoulder to clean-up crew, from top to bottom as the reinforcements worked on arriving, Max bided his time. He lost track of Sebastian at some point, but there was plenty of work to be done in the meantime. It was dirty work, but he wasn't about to let anyone think he was above it. The title had never meant much when it came to him, anyways.

Oh, Mother had never really held it against him that he'd been born different than the rest of the pack. She'd done her best for them despite him being the biggest disappointment at the end of a tail of them. Another boy, and deaf on top of it? No, he hadn't been at all what they'd wanted. But then she'd finally gotten Evelyn twenty minutes after him, and all of those bloody expectations waiting for a target had been dumped right on his poor other half.

He was the freest sibling in the family, and she the most weighted with expectation. Then again, he also had the least options for his life, and her the most- so both had their up sides and down sides. From birth he'd been meant for the Chantry, which would have been fine if he wanted it, but he didn't. Evelyn had protected him. She always would, and now it was time for him to protect her.

From herself.

All he needed was to get one complication out of the way long enough for him to force her out of her comfort zone. She'd never let him do it if Sebastian was around. One of the good parts about knowing someone so well was that he knew exactly how far he could push her.

As the last of the corpses were piled up and the Iron Bull started fixing the pyre for burning, he turned to head back to the newly-captured Keep. Not a bad-looking building. Keeping the trade road between Ferelden and Orlais safe would be a good use of forces, garner some good will and keep the money flowing in.

He could feel blood drying under the collar of his arming doublet, uncomfortable and prickly, but there were more important things at hand. In the midst of drawing off his gloves, he came through the shattered gate of Caer Bronnoch, and found Sebastian out front of the makeshift stables.

“Brother!” he called, pulling his attention. The look turned down on him was puzzled, but surprisingly tired and wary. He approached, tucking his gloves into his belt, glancing past him to whatever had drawn his brother's attention. “What have you found there?”

“One of the war mabari we fought had pups,” Sebastian replied, tapping his ear and gesturing into the stable. “I heard them yelping for their mother. I'm not certain if they're old enough to survive on their own, but it seems a sin to just leave them to die.”

“Well, what could really be done about it?” he signed back, finally catching sight of some movement in the rotted hay, a small dark body wriggling. When Sebastian spoke, he missed it, but he willingly repeated himself at Max's signed request.

“I've raised hunting dogs before. If I could find a goat...”

“A goat? Out here? Sebastian, I admire your dedication, but night's falling soon and we just killed a bunch of bandits. I think people dying to undead is a bit more critical than some Ferelden whelps. Let the poor things go and we'll give them a burial in the morning if they don't make it.”

“I suppose you're right,” Sebastian said, and then sighed at his quick one-handed request. “Max, my sign is abominable.”

“Try for me,” he demanded, grabbing his brother by the elbow and pulling him away, signing with the other hand. “Why aren't you helping Evie sort things out?”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian signed, more or less.

“You can't tell me you haven't noticed how she holds herself apart from everyone.”

A hint of relief on Sebastian's face. Suspicious. Well, he wouldn't be surprised if they'd been fighting again, that would explain some of the tension that'd been going around. Max wasn't going to nose his way between them to try and figure it out. That's how you got your nose snipped off.

“She seems to prefer it. I try not to bother her, Max,” Sebastian replied out loud, but he didn't push it this time.

“And when has letting Evie stew in her own head made anything better and not worse?” he retorted, waiting for Sebastian to puzzle it out as they headed up the stairs. Rather than continuing on to the courtyard where they had left Evie working on a missive to Harding, Sebastian pulled aside to a small alcove, turning to face him.

“She's a grown woman.”

“So why are you even here? Because she has all these people to watch her back in battle,” Max replied, trying not to be too irritated, but this oddly withdrawn, standoffish attitude was bothering him. His hands were a bit sharper than he'd intended. “While you were off in the Chantry and having adventures with the Champion of Kirkwall, we were at home, Sebastian. She is entirely out of her element right now, trying to keep a whole bloody Inquisition going with some _thing_ in her hand, and you're letting her sit by herself at a fire at night, all alone, because why? You don't want to make her angry?”

Irritably he waited as Sebastian caught up, fighting the urge to reach out and shake him. It wasn't his brother's fault. He was trying, and he hadn't seen Evie in twenty years, so of course he wasn't going to jump right in, but _someone_ should have noticed. Someone should have realized what she was doing to herself.

“What are you trying to say? Max, I'm having trouble understanding what's wrong. Surely she's allowed to make her own choices, I know she can be solitary, but I don't want to alienate her more by trying to force-”

Waving both hands through the air to cut him off, Max sighed, rubbing his forehead briefly before beginning to sign. “I didn't say force. And there are worse things than Evie being angry, brother.”

That sobered Sebastian, his eyes dropping. “I am _aware_.”

Sympathy rose, and he reached out and clasped his shoulder lightly for a second, giving it a shake. This had gone on long enough. He knew she'd been humiliated, and no, Evie wasn't the type to forget a slight. But there was being stubborn, and then there was harboring a grudge over something for twenty years that- while mortifying- was in retrospect hilarious. All she had to do was get over it.

Or at least realize that she probably already had.

“All right, listen, I'll fix this. But if I do, you need to do something for me,” he signed decisively, ignoring how dubious the look turned on him was.

“I don't know if it's fixable, Max, but I-”

“Of course it's fixable, everything is fixable. It's just going to be embarrassing for you both, that's all. You more than her” Wariness, suddenly, blue eyes narrowing at him as Sebastian stared at him. Max grinned in the face of it until it eased. “Or have you not learned humility after all, brother?”

He fully expected that there would be some resistance, but Sebastian got oddly thoughtful, staring at the ground until he gestured to draw his attention back. “You know what, Max? You're right. I don't think it'll help to have it out, but-”

“Oh, I don't want a confrontation. I'm not going to arrange some sort of airing of the grievances. In fact, I don't even want you around for it, she'd never let it happen if you were there. So just make yourself scarce for a bit.”

Surprisingly Sebastian didn't protest. That was good, because as much as Max loved him, he'd been about as useful as tits on a ram. Well, that was probably why Max had been summoned.

“She's not going to be happy, Max.”

“So she can yell at me. It's high time she let herself be humanized, before she starts believing all the nonsense people try to sell her. You know Evie. Having a good row always clears the air with her, and sometimes it's the only way.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to do something only a brother can do and live, Sebastian. I'm going to embarrass the shite out of her.”

As Inquisition soldiers filtered in with the setting of the sun, leaving the bare minimum behind at the encampment to the west, Evelyn began to relax. Word had been sent to Leliana and Cullen, and this spot would be held. It was an integral point to trade, and to leave it to bandits would have been more than dangerous, it would have been politically unwise.

The bandits were gone to greasy, unpleasant smoke and the rest of their remains would be buried tomorrow. Perhaps she'd been paranoid, but fighting the dead made one reluctant to take any chances. At least everyone had agreed with her.

“Josephine will be very pleased to have this trade route secured,” Cassandra said, returning from her survey of the keep.

Evelyn glanced up, giving a faint smile as she dropped the rag that had been found for her back into the rough basin of water. It wasn't a bath, but it was something. No more blood on her face, at least.

“Word's been sent. I believe we can hold it for now, but another dozen men would turn this into a proper waypoint,” Evelyn decided, glancing up at the sky still threatening rain. “Maker, does it ever stop here?”

“At least here there is shelter,” Cassandra said. “The way to the dam has been scouted, and it appears clear. It ends at an abandoned tavern. Shall we push on and spend the night there? I know it is getting dark, but-”

“No, that is probably wise,” Evelyn agreed, forcing herself to pull her gloves back on, despite it being the last thing she wanted. They were still stained, but warm and dry inside as she tugged them on. “Could you gather everyone?”

“Of course, Inquisitor.”

As much as she hated to make everyone push on, at least it was a minor trek. It was even more of a relief when she realized the way was clear, no undead on the path. Perhaps the scouts had taken care of it. They had crossed the great bridge, embarrassed a courting couple from the village who had taken up residence in the tavern (sent home with a good-natured chiding), and finally faced the great mechanism for the dam before she realized Sebastian wasn't with them.

“Where has Prince Vael taken himself off to?” she asked, after making sure Max was in line of sight.

“Your brother told me he was occupied?” Cassandra said, glancing from her to Max.

At her raised eyebrow, Max grinned, lifting both shoulders in a shrug, signing quickly, “he'll catch up, Evie, I needed his help with something.”

“Suspicious,” she spoke and signed back, before shrugging and turning to the wheel. “Bull, do you need a hand?”

“I think I've got it, Boss.”

The mechanism went slow, but thankfully all of her fears were put to rest. It was easy to tell it was functioning, the low rumbling gradually giving way to a genuine vibration, and the roar of water outside. It was too dark to see when she stepped out to check, but she could hear the water rushing, hopefully to fully expose the ruins of Old Crestwood, and the rift that caused the dead to rise.

It was too late to push on, but the tavern at least was warm and dry.

Evelyn stood outside and listened, arms folded, eyes downcast, until the last of it died away. A glance back towards the keep showed lights in the distance, but none approaching. What had Max sent Sebastian to do? She hadn't wanted to press him in front of other people, but he'd been dodging all attempts to pull him aside. It was frustrating.

When she returned to the tavern, it seemed as if things were settling. The large hearth was blazing, and tables and chairs had been pulled across the floor to sit closer to it. Varric had already pulled out cards, which wasn't uncommon, Max seated next to him with his elbows on the table. When she mockingly signed for him to watch his table manners, he flipped the vee at her, making Sera snicker.

“I already knew that one,” she declared, glancing sidelong at Evelyn as she approached the table.

“We borrowed it. Max, could I talk to you for a moment?”

She felt a bit awkward infringing on everyone's relaxation. Luckily there was plenty of space here, and it was bright enough that she could go upstairs and work on her embroidery without being underfoot. When he denied her with a flip of his hand, she frowned, annoyance deepening.

Why was he avoiding her?

It wasn't like him, and she was starting to get annoyed.

“It would be appreciated,” she told him frostily, crossing her arms.

“Maybe later,” he signed, and she translated, becoming uncomfortable with everyone watching. “I told Varric we were going to tell stories. Why should he get to tell all the stories? Come sit down.”

“I didn't realize you'd brought your writing paper. I thought you'd given me the last of it for letters.”

“I didn't, The Iron Bull knows how to speak.”

Surprised and offended, she turned her attention to him accusingly. The huge Qunari just chuckled, settling into a seat at the table. “What? I'm a spy, Boss. You think I don't know Antivan sign language? You guys've got a really weird accent, it took me a bit to puzzle out.”

The offense faded, and resignation set in. “Why would I think you didn't? You're right. Maker. Well, we had to teach each other some of it, so that's why.”

“It's a pretty cool dialect.”

“Well,” she said, oddly flustered by the compliment, “thank you.”

“Sit down!” Max demanded loudly, not bothering to sign it. Instincts immediately went defensive, and she glanced up and down the table, but no one so much as gave him an odd look. She tried not to bristle, taking a deep breath as she stepped around to take the chair pushed out at his side. Her leather and metal coat draped over it gave her some space to breathe, and she slumped down slowly.

Why he was being so insistent, she didn't know, but if he wouldn't talk to her, there was nothing for it.

“Deal her in, she's shite at cards but it's funny when she gets mad,” Evelyn translated for her brother without thinking, and then squinted an eye at him irritably. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Max retorted, grin deepening as Varric tried to hide his smile. “You're the worst loser I've ever met in my entire life. Then again, holding grudges over a game of chance is a family habit. Father disowned his brother for four years because of a game of chess.”

“He disowned his own brother over a game?” Cassandra asked as she sat down across from Max, shocked.

“He cheated!” Evelyn protested, the need to protect family from any and all accusations rising- even against her brother. “Cheating is unacceptable!”

“Four years,” Max signed, giving her a sidelong look. “Then again, Evie could win awards for grudge-holding. How long has it been?”

Off-balance, she stared at her brother in confusion, glancing over briefly as Vivenne settled down next to her. Blackwall was poking at the fire and something that had been slung over it- usually just a slap-together stew with whatever they had on hand on the road. There was bread from the Village, at least, that wasn't too old.

Casting about showed no signs of relief from her brother's mischief, only intent interest, and she was now trapped.

Damn him to the Void.

“How long has what been?” she finally asked, submitting to the inevitable.

“Since the birthday party! Wait, do they not even know why you and Sebastian are on the outs? Did you not tell them why you refused to marry him the first time around?” Max asked, face so innocent that if she didn't _know_ what he was doing, she might think him genuine. But he wasn't.

She'd translated out of habit, before the meaning of his words had a chance to sink in. Not that she would have lied or refused, because that was just cruel. Also, the Iron Bull understood, apparently, so she was doomed.

“I'm not interested in embarrassing him like that,” she denied. “It would be cruel.”

“I am. It's hilarious. I don't think it's cruel, it's been ages! Besides, I promised Varric we'd have a good story, and what's a better story than that? Come on, lighten up a little, hedgehog.”

“No, Max,” she denied wearily. “Tell something else.”

“It's my duty as a big brother. So it was Evie's sixteenth birthday.”

Evelyn sighed, hanging her head into her hands, elbows thudding on the table. Why was he doing this to her? With everyone listening and everything! If Sebastian was here, there was no way she wouldn't silence him, she couldn't bear to face her own humiliation in front of him.

“Evie!” Max demanded out loud, drawing her reluctantly out of the darkness of her palms to watch his hands. “They're your friends. Of course they're curious, you never tell anyone anything. Call it building trust.”

“Here here!” Varric agreed boisterously.

Friends? That seemed to be going a bit far. Yet, a glance around the table only drew her vague sympathy, and amusement from most, no signs of denial or aloofness. Sera looked positively on the edge of her seat. Well, why should she be embarrassed? It wasn't her that had acted a fool- yes she'd been _made_ a fool of, but that was different.

Spite began to rise, and pointed out that it wasn't _her_ that would be humiliated by this story.

It'd be Sebastian.

“You are so full of shite, Max. You're looking for a chuckle.”

“SO!” he signed dramatically, and then continued on before she could voice any protests. Sometimes having to translate wasn't fair. “It's Evie's sixteenth birthday, mine too obviously. Sebastian is my best friend- our best friend, so of course he came to stay.”

“He wasn't a friend by then. It was all- all momentum,” she declared when allowed a breath to do so.

“I'm not arguing that. Despite staying with us, he doesn't show at the party, and I know Evie's going to be heartbroken, so Callum and I go into the city to find him. Having a good idea of where he was.”

Why her brothers had known where the city's houses of ill-repute were located was something she didn't know. It wasn't something for Evelyn to bother herself over, though. Unlike Sebastian, they hadn't ever embarrassed mama or father with such things, so it wasn't her concern.

“Considering what he told me of when he was younger, I think I can guess,” Varric said, grinning widely.

“He's drunk as anything, and we drag him out of a whorehouse bed and take him back up to the manor. Barely manage to get him into clean clothes, try to sober him up.” Max was signing with dramatic relish, ignoring her hard eyeball to scan his audience. What an absolute ham her twin was. If she didn't know better she'd think he was mortifying her just to get attention.

“Nuh uh!” Sera declared, and then started cackling. “Him? He's got his lips glued to the Maker's arse.”

“Oh yes, him. We get him upright and in clothes finally, thinking we're being good brothers to our wee sister, and take him to our birthday party. He's completely drunk still. Completely.”

"Oh, this is going to be good," Dorian remarked with relish, filling his glass and then offering it to Vivienne, who inclined her head gracefully.

“Everyone could tell,” Evelyn declared wearily, succumbing to the inevitable. Why wasn't she nearly as angry and embarrassed as she thought she'd be?

“Mother's furious, father's stern, Callum's pouring water down his throat and thinking about throttling him, and Evie's looking at him like she found him on the sole of her boot after a ride in the country.”

“Changing his clothes did not stop him from smelling like a whorehouse,” Evie declared, a grudging smile blossoming at Sera's hooting laughter and Vivienne's discreet chuckle at her side. Hearing people laugh over it helped. She wasn't certain why, but the weight finally faded from the telling.

“He manages to get stable enough that he asks her to dance. Everyone's watching, so of course she has to say yes. He gets her out onto the dance floor, and in front of everyone-”

He paused for effect, and she gave a faint groan under her breath.

“Drunk, smelling like the whorehouse we just dragged him out of, proposes to my sister in the middle of our birthday celebration.”

Evie endured the helpless laughter with as much grace as she could; at least Cassandra looked horrified for her. Their eyes met, and in that distressed sympathy the humor of the situation broke through. A smile that was no longer grudging touched her lips. It _was_ funny, and when Cassandra returned her smile with red cheeks, Evie laughed a little as well, dropping her head.

“Maker, you must have been- been absolutely furious!”

“Oh, I was. But it was worse than that, but I never told them,” Evie told Cassandra, smile widening as Max leaned against her shoulder, suddenly all ears and less the center of attention. She endured his weight, tilting her head briefly against his shoulder as she signed and spoke. “And now that I've said that, he'll never let it go. I never told them what he said, I just told them he proposed without father's permission. I was too angry.”

“Oh no,” Cassandra declared, eyes wide, leaning closer. “Was it truly awful?”

Following the cadence of storytelling was a lure impossible to deny. If she just said it flatly, it would have ruined the whole thing. Her brother's flair for the theatrical could be annoying, but when one translated, it was difficult to resist.

At least Sebastian wasn't here. Served him right if everyone knew, it'd bothered her that his parents and hers had kept it from getting out. People should know she was _justified_ for rejecting him. The drunken little git.

“After staggering his way out to the dance floor, Sebastian took me by the hands, leaned in, smelling of spilled ale and p-” she glanced sidelong at her brother and finished less crudely, “perfume, and told me...”

She paused for affect, oddly pleased instead of uncomfortable with all the eyes on her. Somehow the venom had bled out of it all, leaving behind the sheer ridiculousness. The words rolling over in her head didn't even rouse a twinge of pain or rage.

“Wot? Wot?!” Sera demanded loudly.

“You love me and I'm tired of people telling me what to do. Let's get this over with and get married.” It didn't come out bitter, just wry. Maybe time had taken the edges off. She even smiled, remembering the culmination of that awful, booze-soaked demand. “I put my knee to his bollocks, and he vomited all over me.”

“A sixteen year old girl, at her birthday celebration, in front of everyone. I cannot even imagine. Not even an ounce of romance?” Cassandra asked, glancing over at Blackwall's chuckle and glaring at him. “It is a serious thing for a young woman!”

“Deadly serious for me at the time, and even worse, it was a new dress I'd been begging my mother for. Never wore it again. Anyways, I heel-kicked him in the stomach as he fell over and then fled to my room, covered in vomit, and had a scream until my mother found me and cleaned me up.”

“Alan had to stop Callum from throttling him,” Max admitted cheerfully, grinning widely at her long-suffering head shake. “Not that Alan would have minded, but Sebastian's parents would have taken offense.”

“Darling, worse things have happened in Orlesian salons,” Vivienne said to her, still smiling with amusement. “Especially among the younger set. The young are prone to dramatic scandal, no matter where they come from.”

“At the time I thought it was the end of the world, but so were most setbacks at sixteen,” she admitted, laughing again. No, the bitterness was gone from it, the humor of the memory now untainted. At least _that_ memory. It'd never been the worst of it, but Max didn't know that.

He didn't know about the night before that had made that proposal all the more of an insult, her poor childish hopes already smashed into finely-ground powder. Any hopes of him seeming in the least bit romantic had already died, but he'd buried them with that 'proposal'. No, her love for him had already been dead when he staggered up to her on that dance floor, murdered by four little words demanded of her the previous evening, before a door had closed and left her alone and heartbroken.

_“Don't tell your brother.”_

She never had, and she never would.

“You getting dealt in?” Max asked her, drawing her out of her navel gazing with a nudge on her shoulder. Blinking, she glanced up at him, and then down the table at the expectant faces turned in her direction. Waiting for her.

Waiting for her to be a part of things.

Suddenly shy, she cleared her throat and tilted her head to the side with a nod. “If I may?”

“Well yeah, we've been waiting for you to get started,” Varric replied with a chuckle, sliding her a card. “Just...don't take it out on me if you lose, okay?”

“It depends entirely on you, Varric,” she replied mock-icily, scooping up her cards. “Do you plan to cheat?”

“Well, if I was, I'm sure not any more.”

Smiling to herself, she listened to the laughter and scanned her cards, Max resting his weight comfortably against her shoulder. Succumbing, she returned the favor, cheek against his shoulder. Cards close to her chest, of course, because she knew very well that he _would_ cheat given half a chance.

It was surprisingly nice to be in the middle of things instead of on the outside.


	15. Abandoned Things

“I told you to just leave them!”

Sebastian paused in the doorway, under sudden scrutiny from a dozen pair of eyes all turned unerringly on him. It was an odd assemblage of expressions, from the frown on Max's face to the smirk on Dorian's, and the scene became all the stranger when Sera burst into hysterical laughter and fell off of her chair and onto the floor with a thump. The finger pointed at him wavered, but did not fall, an accusation he wasn't certain how to answer.

“One of the scouts found goats for me in the village, they're negotiating with the farmer now,” he replied with confused defensiveness, glancing down at the makeshift basket in his arms. “If they make it through the night, I'll find someone to take care of them before we set out.”

“What in the Maker's name are you two talking about?” Evelyn asked, though the tone of her voice wasn't nearly as sharp as he'd anticipated.

“Puppies,” Max signed dismissively, going lifting his tankard and signing with the other hand, “I told him to leave them.”

Sera was still laughing at him, and Varric's smile had turned into a full chuckle. The other expressions of humor were more discreet, but there wasn't a single face that wasn't having some sort of enjoyment at his expense. As Evelyn pushed up from the table and came to inspect his wriggling burden, he turned a puzzled look on her, expectant.

“Max thought it a good idea to tell the story of your proposal,” she informed him cooly, reaching into the banner-wrapped vessel and grabbing one of the puppies by its scruff with practiced ease, other hand tucking under its rear.

Of course he had. Why had Sebastian expected anything else? Turning his attention to her twin, all he received was a broad grin and a shrug. Well, Sebastian had been warned. A second of internal searching proved that he wasn't feeling upset. More interested in Evelyn's reaction than his own, he was surprised by the decidedly neutral expression on her face.

He would assume she'd be seething.

“The first one?”

“Yep,” Varric declared with relish.

“Better he tell it than I, I'm afraid I don't recall much of that night,” he admitted, and then smiled faintly at Evie's appraising look cast up through her lashes. “The Maker knows a reminder of humility now and again is important.”

She scoffed faintly, but there wasn't any venom in it.

“Can't you even pretend to be mortified for the audience?” Dorian asked, exasperated. “You're taking all the fun out of it.”

“He does that,” Varric, resigned. He shook his head, scooping up the deck of cards in front of him, shuffling deftly.

Tucking the gray and black pup into her palm, Evelyn examined it critically in the firelight, tucking a finger into the mouth when it gave a small yelp. “From the dogs we fought?”

“Aye, they're Mabari,” he agreed with her, and then glanced back up to Dorian with a smile as the man leaned back in his chair and examined them. “I promise I'm not _trying_ to ruin your fun.”

“It's too late,” Dorian sighed. “What are you doing with that thing, Evelyn?”

“Checking its age, they're very large, but they're extremely young,” Evelyn said absently, tucking the puppy into the curve of her elbow and gesturing for him to lower the basket, which he did. He knew she'd take charge of this situation, that's why he'd brought them to her. “Four, one runt that might not make it. I've never dealt with a Mabari litter before, Ferelden doesn't let them out of the country. Angus and I only hand-raised Markham foxhounds, father's favourite.”

“I remembered, that's why I brought them here. Can they survive off the goat's milk?”

Evelyn gave a faint 'hmm', lifting the smallest out, cradling it in her palm and tucking it under her chin as it kicked tiny paws. “I would be surprised if they're more than three days old. It might be a lost cause, Sebastian.”

“I can at least get them through the night and leave them to your men in the morning,” he pointed out, and she gave another faint, dubious 'hmm'. “They deserve a chance, Evie.”

“You need to rest as well, we have to trek through Maker only knows how many undead tomorrow,” she replied, thumb stroking along the smallest puppy's side. “But they are Mabari, and we killed their mother. A shame, but with the way they bond for life, it was unavoidable. Very well, I'll split feeding shifts with you, provided we can get enough milk. I'd wager they'll eat two or three times tonight, but we should stagger them so they're not all yelping at once.”

“I wouldn't want to impose,” he said, and then smiled faintly at her hard look. She'd decided, then, there was no point arguing. “Yes, Evie. I'll wake you halfway through the night. Are you all right?”

The question came out reflexively at her pensive, withdrawn expression, before he realized it might annoy her. Her eyes were cool, but there wasn't anything angry about the way she stared at him. Finally she sighed through her nose, shaking her head.

“I seem to recall that you used to get in a snit over being needled about your bad behavior,” she responded, returning the grey and black back amongst its siblings, but keeping the smallest tucked against her exposed skin. “I'm a bit disappointed in your reaction. I had to suffer through the telling, and you won't even be mortified for me.”

“I've had almost twenty years to reflect on my mistakes, it stings a lot less than it used to- though I do hate to be a disappointment.”

“Well, you're used to being one,” she said flippantly.

When nothing else had struck a nerve, that did. How often had he been called one, how often had he regretted that he was? A disappointment he had almost entirely earned, apart from that which came from his being born an unnecessary son. And yet, even when he had tried to do something worthwhile with his life, he had felt that disappointment looming over him still. An approval never to be won- even in his imagination.

A heaviness, a hollowness sat within him still.

“Put them down by the fire. You remember how to feed pups, aye?” The question hung unanswered, and she blinked and glanced up at him. Puzzled, she tilted her head to meet his averted eyes. “Sebastian.”

“I'm sorry. It seems I'm not immune to all your barbs,” he replied quietly, and inclined his head, turning away.

“You shouldn't reveal your weaknesses to the enemy.”

The basket was in bad shape, but it had served well enough for the trip over, wrapped in the old, discarded banner faded and tattered by time and wear. When he set it down on the hearth, the side of the basket gave in and cracked open, threatening to spill its occupants. Rather than respond to Evelyn, he occupied himself with corralling the squirming pups.

She watched him briefly, but turned on a heel quickly and stomped off with a faint huff when he didn't reply. The conversation had started again behind him, tipsy in spots, boisterous and easy. They'd had a great victory today, and a lakebed full of undead was a surmountable task. After Haven, morale had been low, but they had gradually been gaining strength and spirits again as the victories mounted.

Tonight the mood was light.

“Here,” she declared brusquely, returning, the runt still curled against her neck with one hand. A bundle of deep emerald fabric was thrown on the hearth, and she knelt down. He realized what it was when she began tucking it into a round, and he saw the band of careful embroidery along the hem.

“I don't want to ruin one of your dresses, Evie,” he protested as she began arranging it on the hearth.

“Animals have ruined more than one of my dresses, and yes I'm including you in that,” she dismissed, reaching past him into the basket to transfer the pups one by one, checking them over briefly.

The small dig, like many of the ones she tossed out against him, was more frustrating than hurtful. It was the fact that they were unrelenting that truly bothered him, and that she couldn't seem to have a conversation with him without being on edge. He wanted to help her, wanted to be her friend, but each little barb thrown out only reminded him that she was never at ease around him, no matter how well she hid it.

If only they could finally have it out at last some of the anger might be purged- but she'd refused to hear his apology.

“Three girls and a boy, I believe, hungry but not starving. It's fine, Sebastian, ignore Max's grousing. He just doesn't like dogs.”

“I'd forgotten that he never went hunting with us,” Sebastian admitted, shoving the dilapidated basket aside as she transferred the last one into the makeshift nest, tucking it amongst its siblings. “I would have left them with the scouts, they seemed excited to have them, but I remembered that you would know what to do.”

“Aye, they need to make it through the night, first,” she agreed decisively, “but dogs are always good for morale. Hopefully they make it long enough to make the trek back to Skyhold with us. Finding a bitch here that's already nursing would be ideal, but barring that, I should remember enough to keep them alive.”

“You won't leave them here?”

She stared up at him, blinking in blank surprise. It faded away, and the corners of her eyes crinkled gently, the hint of a smile that never made it to her lips. It was strangely arresting. Her attention shifted back to the squirming pile of puppies, still whining in search of food, and she picked up the smallest one again, cradling it in her hands.

“No. In lieu of a houndmaster, I suppose we'll just have to make do. I'll warm them up, could you go find eggs and honey as well when you fetch the milk?”

“Eggs and honey?” he asked, puzzled.

“Aye, to add to their milk. There may be something more that I'm forgetting that old Halfter used to add, but I remember he would heat the honey and add it, and then egg yolks. It's not perfect, but it's what we can do right now.”

“I defer to your experience,” he said, pushing up to his feet, hands on his knees. “It looked like the last of the men had made it to the keep. I'll bring back any messages-”

“Don't go alone, with the water gone who knows what'll come lurching out of the lake,” she interrupted, glancing up and over at the table. “Cassandra! Are you sober?

“I don't want to bother anyone-”

“Didn't you tell me you would do as I said?” Evelyn retorted, glancing sidelong at him, one brow lifting. “I believe you did. So, Prince Vael, keep your promise or prove yourself a liar.”

Well, there was no argument he could make to that, was there?

Inclining his head, he turned for the door. If this was how she chose to use his words against him, he would be a dutiful soldier. It was a small penance, as such things went, and he could no more hold it against her than he could retract his words.

When he stepped out into the darkness atop the dam, Cassandra joined him, ducking out as she settled her shield over her shoulder. Their eyes met, hers vaguely puzzled, and then the closed door cut them off from such wordless communications. She began off instantly, and he followed, taking the rear out of instinct.

Cassandra was a wise choice to fight with him- he found her easy to anticipate and follow.

“You and the Inquisitor,” she began halfway across in the darkness. It seemed a question, but fell flat like a statement. He wasn't sure quite how she expected him to finish it.

“Seeker?”

“I find her difficult to speak to at times. I am often uncertain if my presence is unwelcome or no,” Cassandra admitted, the lantern that barely lit their steps lifting to scan the rocky incline ahead. It looked slick and uncertain, but so did everything in the rain.

“That can be Evie, aye,” he agreed mildly, eyes scanning the switchbacks leading to the keep. No strange movements.

“You seem very unwelcome.” Her voice was flat, blunt, but even that was pleasant now. He found he quite liked the Nevarran's artless manner. It was frank. “You are unwelcome, and yet you persist.”

Was it breaking her confidence to expose his knowledge of her personality? They trudged upwards in silence for a time, forging toward the distant light. Both of them stalled as a roar split the sky, the lantern swinging as it was lifted high.

Reflected against the low, rain-heavy clouds, a shadow passed above them. A dragon. In silence they both watched it, until it wheeled around and disappeared into pitch black.

He found himself regretting Evie was not there to see it.

“She is shy.”

“Shy?” Cassandra asked, taken-aback.

He found himself smiling, following her up the slope to the gate. “Aye. She protects herself, Seeker, behind it. A bit of patience will do more than you think.”

Foot braced on a sharp incline, Cassandra glanced over her shoulder at him. The light of the lantern behind him, her face was cast into shadows. Her eyes were unreadable, but when she spoke, her voice was soft.

“For your sake, Prince Vael, I hope it is true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a half-chapter. I needed to restart myself. Sorry it's been a while, finishing a manuscript. Hope you're doing well <3


	16. Apologies

Evelyn awoke with a start, skin prickling with chill on one side, and uncomfortable with sweat on the other.

She reluctantly released the velvety bundle that had been curled against her cheek, fingers reaching until a quietly soothing, rolling voice assured her, “Evie, she made it through the night.”

She relaxed with a sigh, letting the yipping pup be curled back against her cheek, a twisted rag damp with goat's milk tucked into her fingers. Slowly drowsing her way to consciousness, she fed the little runt, a faint laugh escaping as the tiny tongue lapped over her fingers. Curling back around it, she drifted off with a sigh.

The world descended into fractured moments, uneven and uncertain and broken by the murmur of voices. She fed the pups as they were passed to her, the little runt curled against her throat. Soon they'd be taken from her. Soft and sweet and innocent, soon taken from her.

There was work to do.

When her mind reluctantly rose to hard, cold reality once more, the pup was still curled against her neck, breathing. The cessation of the small, milk-rounded stomach's movement would have roused her from her sleep, she had thought, and was pleased it was unnecessary. Cradled into the cup of her dress they had slept in (which had gotten singed from a stray coal in the night), someone took the pups as they walked the wall back. As they passed out into the wan sunlight, she surveyed the lakebed.

Lurching, strange figures distant in the early morning fog proved her worst fears.

It was full of the dead. No, if they moved on now, Crestwood would be overrun. Maker's breath, was she ever tired of corpses.

“Today is going to be a lovely day,” she told Blackwall, who shared a sympathetic look with her.

“My Lady, I suggest we roust the locals. Send a messenger to the village on our way out, so they can tidy up the bastards after us. Maker knows the corpses will be soggy, but they've gotta burn eventually. We won't have time to.”

“Now that's wise,” she agreed, breathing out a sigh through her nose. “We'll have to be very thorough. Nothing can get through, I don't want anyone being harmed. Splitting into squads and taking different-”

They both paused as the others moved around them, turning to face the emptied lakebed, and the ruins of Old Crestwood. She gestured broadly, “if we take different approaches, and meet _there_ in the village, we can regroup before going back out to sweep the rest. One can presume that the dead are most numerous there.”

“It'll help us finding that way into the caves as quickly as possible,” Blackwall agreed, scratching his fingers through his beard. “I can take the Northern approach, with Sera and one of the mages, and I wouldn't mind the Seeker watching my arse. To the South, Bull can take your Prince-” Evelyn prevented herself from saying something sharp. “And maybe Madame de Fer.”

“And my brother and I can go with Varric, and Solas. That seems acceptable,” she agreed. “Do you mind working with Dorian?”

“Dorian? No. What about Cole? It'd probably be best if he went with Solas.”

Evelyn paused, giving Blackwall the oddest look. Had she missed a scout from the keep joining them for this trip? Was it one of Leliana's people? Andraste, there was always more, and she hated things slipping through her hands. “Who?”

Blackwall laughed, glancing sidelong. As his eyes met hers, his expression went blank, and then he raised an eyebrow. “Cole. The demon.”

“The WHAT?!”

She realized she'd shouted when the progress further up the bridge stalled, everyone turning back to glance at her. Feeling all of the eyes on her, she glanced from Blackwall, to the rest, and back again. A what?

No, impossible.

“You're teasing me,” she accused him, turning to head to the rest, clutching at her bag.

“Solas!” Blackwall called instead of responding to her, and she watched in bemusement as he stomped past her to speak to the elven mage.

As she stood there, puzzled, Max approached her with a curious look. “What?” he signed.

“I have absolutely no idea,” she said. “I think Blackwall was teasing me. Poorly teasing me, but still.”

“He should know you can't take a joke,” Max signed with a laugh, and then grabbed her arm to pull her along before she could respond. Sourly scowling but feeling no ire, she let herself be pulled.

They passed into the keep one by one, and Evelyn was distracted by marking the progress of preparing for the soldiers needed to hold this place and the road beyond.

Some very brief correspondence was handled, including a letter to the village, Evelyn resigning herself to dictating orders rather than having the luxury to sit and write her own letters. They had to move quickly. When she finished, she had someone take her to where the puppies had been left. They were already being doted over in the kitchen by a pair of the scouts, but she banished them briefly from the room after ascertaining that they knew what to do for the pups.

Left alone, dreading the day ahead of her, Evelyn took a moment and gave each of the squirming, squeaking puppies a kiss on the head. The little runt received one last, and Evelyn tucked her among her siblings securely. A small, calming moment. Something to get her through the mess and horror.

Still no names for the pups. It was bad luck to name an animal before one was certain they'd survive. With Mabari, she was even more hesitant- they would choose their owners, and it would be for them to name the little ones.

Returning to the front gate, she found everyone prepared and waiting for her. Solas and Varric were standing together, speaking, and they both looked at her with a searching look on their faces when she left the keep. When she lifted a brow curiously, Varric just smiled and shook his head.

Well.

“All right. I apologize in advance that we have yet to be free of soggy corpses, but better us than the townsfolk. We're going to split into three parties again, as-” She glanced to Blackwall, who nodded at her- “Blackwall has already informed you. If you notice any signs of tearing in the veil, mages, send up a signal so I can get to it quickly. We are looking for a way to get to the Rift beneath, but we can't let the town be overrun while we're gone, so we have to clean up first. Our scouts will hopefully get anything that lurches past our lines, and the armed townsfolk will hopefully agree to dispose of the bodies.”

“Euch,” Sera groaned tiredly. Evelyn was quite in agreement, and gave her an apologetic smile.

There was nothing for it.

With Solas, Varric, and her brother at her side, Evelyn felt secure enough with their plan. All of the people she had been fighting with longest, apart from Cassandra. Granted, she and Max had never been in such circumstances before, but now they both knew they were up to the task, and they worked together as if they'd been killing undead their whole lives.

Downing a cluster of bloated corpses, they cut through towards the center of the village, arrowing straight for its heart to meet the others. Mud. More mud. Maker, she would give anything for somewhere warm and dry to fight in. Luckily the ground was more stable than the Mire had been, or she would have been in an even fouler mood when Solas intercepted her, close to the center of town.

“Inquisitor,” he said, and she blinked and glanced up at him, pulling up from her examination of a rotted chest half sunken into the floor of a house's skeleton.

“Yes, Solas? Was there a signal?” Instantly on alert, raising her shield, she glanced past his shoulder but saw nothing in the sky.

“No, Inquisitor. It seems that a stray spirit lingers. I thought it best to warn you before-”

“We have fought many of its ilk,” she reminded him tolerantly, amused by his concern. The green, strangely wispy demons fell as easily to blades as they did magic, to her relief. “But if it is particularly strong, we can wait for the others to confront it.”

“No, Inquisitor, it is a _spirit_ ,” Solas emphasized firmly. “As we discussed before. It is no threat.”

Uneasily she recalled their conversations, which she suffered through to learn more about him, even if his near-heretical ideas made her uneasy. Glancing past his shoulder, this time to the ground strewn with wilting aquatic plants and detritus, she thought she saw a glimmer of something in the distance. Something red?

“And am I to trust people's lives to you, if you say it is no threat? If it is not evil, can you not...shoo it back across?”

“Like a fly?” he asked her, unreadable.

“Solas, you will note that I have not lifted my blade,” she pointed out, trying to keep her voice even instead of sharp. “This is evidence of my _trust_ in you. Please understand I mean no ill will, my only thought is for the safety of others.”

He paused, and then gave a faint sigh and nodded. “Of course, Inquisitor. It is forthright. A spirit of Command. I would suggest you speak with it-”

“Speak with a-” She stopped herself from saying demon, but from Solas' sardonic look, she knew she had not hidden it. “Can it be avoided safely? Will ignoring it put others in danger?”

“No, Inquisitor,” Solas said, resigned.

“Then let us do so,” she decided, shaking her head. “There is enough here without adding more burdens to our duty today. Let us finish our sweep and head to the caverns. Closing the rift _must_ be our priority.”

“Of course,” he replied, without even an iota of expression.

Why did she feel as if he were disappointed in her?

Brushing it off, she turned to the task at hand. So many bodies in this blighted and drowned town. In the pouch of her belt, a fragment of nearly-destroyed note that brought with it an uneasiness, settled into her gut that she could not dispel.

_The work you ordered is done. Do what you want. I'll be in the hills trying to forget it._

What work had the mayor demanded? Certainly it couldn't have anything to do with what happened to the dam- he had claimed it had failed when the Darkspawn had come. And yet...

Her heart was uneasy.

It was a sensation that grew as they regrouped and plunged down into the darkness, into the twisting caves below. Dead refugees, drowned in tunnels. Fragments of memories left behind that spoke of a story more horrifying than Darkspawn. She pushed it to the back of her mind.

The rift was as terrible as she had feared once they navigated the slick labyrinthine tunnels of nature and ancient Dwarven craft. Still, with the might of her many companions and the painfully crackling power of the Anchor, it fell as they all did in time. When it closed, she collapsed, and Max was at her side.

It was difficult for pride to demand she not show weakness when the bones in her arm were vibrating, hand trembling with a violent rhythm that made it impossible to pick up her sword. This time Solas was there. Despite their earlier, albeit polite altercation, he was there to examine her hand as she shook, wrist clutched in her unmarked hand.

“That was an exceptionally large rift,” he said, even and calm.

“I wonder if they are worse where there has been much suffering.” Their eyes met, and Evelyn forced a rueful smile. “This is a sad place.”

“Yes,” Solas agreed simply, turning his attention back to her palm. “Your hand should return to its usual state shortly. It appears stable.”

“For now,” she said, dry.

It was a victory, but the darkness in her mind lingered when they returned in triumph to Crestwood. With Cassandra at her side she went to speak to the mayor, to reassure him, passing by citizens engaged in the grim task of retrieving the dead to bring to Sister Vaughn for their final rest. She said a quiet thanks to the Maker, a prayer which died in an empty doorway.

The mayor was gone.

In his place, a letter that she read with Cassandra. This time her hands were not shaking with pain, but with rage. All her fears were true. It was not the Darkspawn that had drowned Old Crestwood, but the man who had sworn to protect them. Mayor Dedrick.

Fear had killed refugees, his own people, and now was clutched now in her hands- a letter, more evidence of his cowardice. He should have stayed. If he had confessed to her face, shown remorse, she would have had a thought for mercy, but now? No.

“He will be found, and brought to me,” she told Cassandra, folding up the letter with small, deliberate motions despite her desire to crush it. “Spare what resources we can.”

“Leliana's people will find him,” Cassandra agreed, subdued.

“Let it be done,” Evelyn said icily, clutching her hand with a tremor of her fingers. “And then I will see justice done.”

"Why leave the letter, if he fled? It makes little sense to me. If he seeks to confess, he should face the consequences."

"Selfishness," Evelyn said, shaking her head, heart cold and heavy. "To try and purge his own pain, to play on sympathies in hopes of escape, without facing justice. I hope it gave him no ease. I hope it haunts him still, that he finds no reprieve until we find him and force him to face his punishment. There is no sincerity in that letter, only desperate selfishness."

"If he had stayed-" Cassandra cut off, and shook her head. "It does not matter, I suppose. I will go speak with Charter."

The question, unasked, lingered in the air as Evelyn was left alone. If he had stayed to face his crimes, would she have been merciful? Evelyn Trevelyan did not forgive, and she did not forget- but should the Inquisitor be different?

A question that would haunt her.

It was long past time for a good cry.

Evelyn was tired, heartsick, and all she wanted to do was flop down and sob herself out until her nose was running and her eyes were red. If she mourned every horror she would never stop, but she hadn't allowed herself proper tears since they had found Dinah's body. Unfortunately, being ensconced in a tent surrounded by people, she had no choice but to deny herself the cleansing sobs and settled for silent tears with the occasional shuddering breath that hopefully none would hear.

That bastard.

That absolute bastard.

Injustice too late to prevent left a particularly bitter taste, a regret sharp and painful. Those poor people. Although she could not save them, she could at least bring justice. They would find Dedrick and see that justice done. No matter what.

The tears weren't only for Crestwood, they had a great deal of momentum behind them that was compounded with many things. Stress, pain, and everything she had suffered until now. It just seemed that she had failed to stay ahead of the flood this time. Sometimes there was nothing to do but let the tears happen, and hope that what came at the end was release and not further misery.

She was finally beginning to feel the exhausted catharsis from her tears, handkerchief crumpled and damp, cheeks and eyes hot, when a sliver of firelight cut across her and the back of the tent.

“Evie?”

Damn the man.

“Oh, go away, Sebastian,” she plead, keeping her back to him, voice embarrassingly thick from weeping. “I'm being childish, I don't want an audience.”

“I-” Hesitation in his voice, but he didn't immediately leave. “Are you certain you want to be alone? I can find Max...”

“To do what, tease me about it?” Her voice was too sharp, but she was so tired. She knew Max wouldn't be unkind, but she didn't want anyone right now.

“No one would- Evie, that was horrible. You're allowed to be upset.”

“No one wants to hear me whine,” she dismissed with a wave of her hand, trying to force her strained voice to behave. She should be distant, severe, not pathetic. The last thing in Thedas she wanted was the pity of one Sebastian Vael.

“Yes, I know you have some difficulty sharing things with people.” There was something odd in his voice, an odd hesitance. “Last night- I've been surprised that no one knew.”

“You humiliated me, Sebastian! Do you think I wanted to share any of that?” she asked, that old simmering irritation rising again, pushing away embarrassment and the keen sting of injustice that had caused her tears. Why wouldn't he go away?

The firelight was cut off, the tent flap closed. She knew he had not left but joined her, and reluctantly in the dim light that managed to filter in, she turned to face him. Her eyes were red and watery, but she lifted her chin. She would not be seen as weak.

“Aye, I understand now, Evie, but...I'd thought you'd told people. A long time ago, about all of it. It's half of the reason I wrote your father an apology instead of coming straight to you. I thought I had to make it right with your family.”

Instantly she knew what he was talking about, and she froze. The old, old pride that lived in her mother's blood reared its head, and her jaw stiffened. “You apologized for taking my virginity, you mean.” She said it bluntly, unkindly to make him wince, which he did. “No. No one knows, Sebastian. I sincerely hope, for my sake and yours, that you were not terribly specific in that letter, or that is no longer the case.”

“No, Evie, I did not phrase the letter to your father as 'so sorry about ruining Evie's birthday party, and-” There he stopped, clearing his throat.

“How funny that you could bed me so casually, but cannot even say it,” she sniped.

This time his flinch was earnest, his eyes full of remorse, and despite her anger with him, she felt badly for that. How dare he make her feel badly! Damn him. Damn all of this. Damn her own bloody heart and head and the stubborn pride that kept her locked in this old long-dead mire of bitter feelings.

“Aye,” he said simply, acknowledging it honestly.

“No, Sebastian. I didn't tell them _anything._ Not even that there had been advances made, let alone a bedding. Mother wouldn't care, but do you think father would ever have accepted your suit if he knew?”

His face went blank, and then he sobered up, forehead creasing. Sighing, he crossed the tent and sat down on the edge of her bedroll, collapsing onto it. Rubbing his forehead, he slicked his hair back with both hands, gazing up at her across the dark tent. She met his eyes, stubbornly refusing to let her own drop.

“I always thought that the instant I was carted home, every Trevelyan knew. I was so happy to be welcomed back despite...” The sentence floundered, died.

“I told no one anything, Sebastian. Don't flatter yourself to think it was for your sake.” She crossed her arms, ignoring his troubled expression. He could suffer. He deserved it.

Sighing, he pressed his hands down on his knees, nodding his head. “At least it's out now. It's better that we're honest, it's the only way things can be mended. I'm holding to my word, Evie. Whatever you want from me, you'll have it.”

“I would say something like 'unless I say go away', but I don't want to retread conversations,” she sighed. “Ugh, Sebastian, why must you pester me so? Every time I try to give you what you want, you change what it is. I had my father accept, and then that wasn't good enough. I accepted, and yet that's not good enough either. I expect if I give you leave to court you'll refuse to until I spend three months mooning hopefully after you. Why won't you be grateful for what you're given?” Tired, she was so tired, and while the tears had soothed her bitter heart, they had left her all the more exhausted. Being angry was one of her most well-developed weapons, but even so she was blunting it against his earnestness.

It wasn't quite so sharp. Maybe that's why she strove all the more to hang onto it, and to keep him at bay with her shield. Her attacks were faltering.

“You missed the order a bit, Evie. You forgot the part where I want you to hear my apology. Properly,” he said, quietly. “I'd be grateful if that was where we started when you're ready.”

Perhaps, after the revelation of her feelings not quite being so acute, this might not be as difficult as she thought. Pride denied him, but while Evelyn was stubborn, she was not stupid. It was all out now. Everything she was willing to share had been, and they had mentioned the old wounds she had tried so hard not to let show.

She didn't have to forgive him.

Ignoring her feelings made it logical, as she and Vivienne had discussed, to marry him. Her prospects were much wider now as Inquisitor, but to marry Sebastian would not seem like a power-grab, which many other offers would. It would avoid the impious suggestions that she had wed herself to the Maker like Andraste, and would finish her 'story' on a charming, sentimental note.

And yet, she had not accepted his proposal with no feelings that night on the battlements. Her bitterness and spite were the opposite of cool logic and wisdom. It was her childhood affections that fueled her hatred. Hadn't some Orlesian quotable notable said something about hatred being incapable of existing without love?

Love's absence was indifference.

Evelyn was certainly not indifferent, not about Sebastian. Perhaps with time she could cultivate indifference to him, but there would be no hope of it without purging the festering wound inside of her. That injury poisoned every interaction with him. Listening to him might be a start.

To hear him say what he had done to her, to acknowledge it- it might help.

She could face it now that she had admitted the past.

“A walk on the battlements will clear my head,” she said, and he nodded and pushed up to follow her again.

This would hurt, but she was no coward.

They walked outside in silence, avoiding the fires, the gatherings, the people in Caer Bronoch. He followed her up the ancient stone stairs, close behind her. The air was brisk, but warmer by far than the mountains, brushing past her tear-heated cheeks and cooling her heart. Mounting the battlements, she gave a nod to a scout as they passed by, Sebastian finally drawing beside her.

She was uncertain where to begin, so she did not, walking in silence beside him under the dark sky of Crestwood. He remained at her side wordlessly, hands clasping behind his back as they paced along.

“I'm- Sebastian, I'm listening.”

“Hmmh. When I wrote to you, Evie, I burned copy after copy of that letter, until I thought I had made you the best apology I could. Like the others before it, it too became ash, unread. Now all I have are the words in my heart, and I fear I will do them no justice.” His eyes were fixed past her, on the distant horizon, dark in the shadows and unreadable. A far cry from his usual penetrating, earnest blue stare.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We cannot know until you try.”

He smiled faintly, voice slow and even. “You're right. The way I treated you the night before your birthday was unacceptable, unworthy of both of us. The truth is, I resented you, through no fault of your own. I resented you, and yet you also were something I wanted above all things.”

She remained silent, but cast him a sidelong look. He still wasn't staring at her, no pleading eyes or earnest hand-holding. He gazed out into the distance, voice thoughtful and slow.

“As a child I loved you, but as we grew older I began to hate how they pushed us at each other. You were the future, respectability, stability, all the things my parents expected of me. I was unneeded, unwanted, unnecessary- a third son, worse than a spare. I wanted them to pay attention to me, to care about me, and somehow my best friend got tangled up in the mess of my rebellion. Being a shame to the family at least meant I wasn't overlooked.”

She breathed out a sigh through her nose, reaching out and grasping the cracked stone, chill seeping into her palms. All she had to do was listen. He could not demand an answer from her, could not demand she say anything.

“I wanted parents who cared in the times I wasn't making trouble for them. I wanted brothers who- I wanted what you had. And if I had just given in, done what everyone wanted for us, I would have had it.”

“You would have been miserable.”

He laughed humorlessly. “Yes. I would have made us both miserable. My bitterness killed boyhood infatuation, and I resented that you loved me. It felt like more duty. It felt as if I didn't do things right, I'd lose you, and Max as well. Losing my best friends for the crime of not caring the right way. I hated that you loved me, it made me feel as if you weren't on _my_ side any more, but theirs.”

“So you destroyed it,” she surmised flatly. “Just like you destroyed your relationship with your parents. That's why you seduced me.”

“I suppose that's the long and short of it, but Evie. I don't want to make excuses, but-”

“Say everything you have to say.”

“I _wanted_ to be someone who could love you. I know that's meaningless, but it is true. I covered up every flaw with vanity, every pain with mindless pleasure, every virtue with vice. I buried the man I should have been becoming. The kind of man that could have loved you wasn't who I was letting myself be. I steeped myself in that vile resentment because it was easier. I was indolent and lazy, and it was easier to despise you.”

It wasn't as simple to hear as she'd been expecting, but it also wasn't as painful. There was a strange relief in hearing him say it out loud. No excuses, no accusations. She supposed he was an expert at making confessions by now. “I suppose the Chantry is the best thing that could have happened to you.”

“Yes, but the way it happened was wrong. I should have never lured you to bed like-” He paused at her loud, expressive snort. “What?”

“Sebastian!” She turned on him, exasperated, tired, and still somehow amused. Why was this strangely funny? Arrogant even now, despite all the humility. “Lured me, as if I were a little fish and your cock was a hook?!”

“Evie!” he protested at her crudity, but it only made her laugh all the more.

“Maker save me from men,” she scoffed, reaching up and wiping both hands down her face.

“Evie, I know that you were an in-”

Lifting a hand, she silenced him with her palm a half-foot from his face, trying not to let the humor leech into her voice. Why was this funny? “If you say innocent I'll geld you here. I was a virgin, there's a vast difference. I wasn't duped into bed, Sebastian. I knew you treated women like it was a game to be won, I knew how you would treat me, and I went to bed with you anyways.”

“Why, Evie?”

Tired from the burden of holding it inside, she said it simply. “I loved you, I was curious, and you were handsome, and charming- even drunk. If I'm honest, Sebastian, the person I hate most of all in that isn't you. It's me. I'm ashamed I thought you would treat me differently. I'm ashamed I thought I was special.”

“Evie.”

“No, damn it to the Void, Sebastian, it's true. That isn't why I-” she stalled, words dying on her tongue. It was the part deep inside of her she couldn't admit, couldn't open up to. She wouldn't tell him what she had overheard that night years before in Starkhaven, when he had spoken so cruelly of her to his friends. At least she knew why now. “I'm hardest on myself, anyone who knows me knows that.”

“I still bear more than my fair share of blame. I can't say at the time I had enough brain in my head to know what I was doing, but in hindsight it's so clear I may as well have announced it out loud. I hurt you, and I did it on purpose. I wanted to punish you for loving me when I didn't think myself worthy of having it, when you were a symbol of all of the things I _should_ have done.”

Evelyn sighed, wrapping arms around herself, fingers digging into the padding of her arming doublet. “I knew it was the end. That's why it hurt so badly, but I wasn't raised to think it the work of a woman to save a man, and I didn't want to try. The poets can keep that sentiment. I was done with you that night. And then the next night you proposed to me.”

“I never deserved you.”

“You-” She paused, listening to a distant echoing roar scattering and shattering across the sky, eyes drifting closed. A distant beast, the dragon they had seen. “Oh, to fly, Sebastian. Can you imagine?”

“Are we free enough to fly, Evie?”

She laughed at that, eyes opening again, tracking the shadowed haze of Satina behind the cloak of clouds, lending a glow to their edges. There were moons even here, albeit hidden. Her gaze tracked the sky until he moved in her vision. He clutched the stone in his fingers, leaning forward, eyes fixed upwards now.

“Do you really want to try? Truly?”

“To fly?” he asked, meeting her eyes.

“To deserve. I don't believe anyone is. For I don't think there's a single man in Thedas who is capable of giving me what I think would be deserving of me- what I've been looking for and never found.”

“And what is that, Evie?”

“I don't want to be a good, or sensible choice of a wife, Sebastian. I want to be someone's _only_ choice.” Despite all efforts to keep it cool and even, her voice cracked.

He ducked his head, and tilting his chin to glance sidelong up at her. She tried to smile to deflect the emotions welling inside her, but it quavered, weakened, and she felt the tears. That wasn't why he had pledged suit to her, and they both knew it.

He hadn't asked her to be his wife because he wanted her.

“That's not for me, is it? I've always been the sensible choice. Sturdy, good blood, good lines, like a- like a _horse_. I thought time would strip it all from me until finally perhaps I might find someone who wanted _me_.”

“Evie.”

She laughed brokenly, ignoring his hesitantly extending hand and turning away. “But no! Now I'm the bloody Inquisitor! Ach, Sebastian, how could anyone want _me_ when I'm buried under so many more enticing things? A man has never wanted me for myself, and now I doubt anyone ever will. It's always been my blood, my face, my family, and now my title. I'll always have that hanging over me.”

Silence behind her for far too long. Hesitation. Finally, he spoke again. “I could.”

Evelyn scoffed. “You didn't send a suit to my father because you wanted me. If anything, you wanted a shadow of a girl you knew.”

“That is true,” Sebastian allowed, and she was relieved by his honesty. “I wanted my best friend back. I wanted a family again, and yours was the only other one I remembered. I wanted the sweet, stubborn, bloody-minded girl that loved me when I wasn't ready to be a man. I wanted a good wife who would be good for Starkhaven, and admittedly, there was a bit of pride there. I wanted to see if I could still be the man to get a yes from the woman that only said no.”

“Maker save me from the whims of men.” Evelyn sighed, closing her eyes. At least the exasperation dried the tears. “At least you're honest. Just...give up, Sebastian, as I have. At least we'll have a family. We have so many gifts in our lives, we can still thrive without caring for one another.”

“No, that's not good enough. I think we should try, Evie.”

“Try?” she glanced over her shoulder at him, confused.

“I...perhaps risking losing it is better, Evie. Better than having something flawed and wrong. You wouldn't be happy if we ended it here, went to the Chantry. You're not the sort of woman who accepts defeat, are you?”

Anger stiffened her spine, despite still not quite certain what he was trying to get at. “No. I do not.”

“Then why give up on what you want, Evie? You say I'm asking your pride from you, but I'm not your enemy. It's the opposite. I want to fight at your side for the rest of our lives, against the troubles of the world. I want to be your friend, and partner. We can fight this too, together.”

“What are you trying to say?” Evelyn struggled to keep a straight face, feeling his words dig deeply despite all efforts to brush them off. “You think we can, together, find someone who wants me only for myself? Are you going to be my matchmaker now, Sebastian?”

He chuckled quietly. “No, I want you to give me a chance to become that man, Evie, Maker willing. Let's start over. Not ignoring the past, but accepting it, and getting to know the people we are now.”

“Sebastian.”

“I'm going to ask again,” he said patiently, but it was a threat.

“At this point it seems I cannot stop you.”

Her voice was resigned, but there was a strange twist in her stomach, an uneasiness that she hadn't felt in a long time. Not unpleasant, but fluttery. Certainly unwelcome, but he seemed to keep bringing up things that were.

“Evelyn Trevelyan, may I have leave to court you? You, just you.”

Pride reared its ugly head, forcing itself back in despite her deciding this was a time for logic and sensibility. If this was what he needed, then she should give it to him. Pride, however, found its way to twist her tongue, and her words came out mangled by it.

“I suppose if you are determined to suffer, I should not bar your way to it.”

“I'll assume that was a yes,” Sebastian said, with better humor than he should have. A quiet chuckle, and he inclined his head to her out of the edge of his vision. “I'll do my best to be worthy of it. I'll leave you now, Evie.”

Shamed by her own defensive words, she took a hesitant half step as he turned and walked away. A thousand kind things to say that would soften it flitted across her mind, but they fell against the bulkwark of stubbornness that held her tongue. Silenced by that shame and her own embarrassment, she watched him walk away.

When he paced down the stairs and disappeared, she blinked back a few defiant tears.

“What a fool of a man you are, Sebastian Vael.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to poking at fanfics! I dug up an old Dragon Age Origins one I worked on but never posted, have been poking at it too. I'm enjoying it! If you like my writing and it seems like it might be up your alley, give it a look! It's quite a bit different than this one.


	17. On the Road Home

_Dearest Evelyn,_

_Your brother is dictating as always, but I will ignore his demand that this letter be addressed to 'the wean' and pretend that he has any social graces. Lord Trevelyan sends his love and would like you to know that you can count on a generous tithe from the harvest even if he didn't appreciate you having an Ambassador request it instead of writing yourself. There. Business out of the way. I've shooed him off, now I can write you properly._

_The children all miss you, as do I and Agnes, though she and Liam are off to Starkhaven now. I used to think things were too busy and loud here, but now I realize how much I miss it with everyone haring off across Thedas._

_Strangely, we've received invitations to a ball in Halamshiral. I contacted my sister in Val Royeaux and she informed me that it likely had to do with you. This all seems a bit suspect to me, so while I know you're the busiest person in Thedas, if you could let us know as soon as possible the implications of this it would be vastly appreciated. If we do not hear from you I will politely decline on behalf of the family._

_It is not the only invitation we have received from Orlais. Many have come from old acquaintances I have not spoken to in years, not since I married into the Marches. How strange. How conveniently timed. I miss having you here to laugh over how transparent they all are being, but every time I throw a saccharine letter into the fire I think of you, little sister._

_And for the quick updates on the children- Young Alan's hale, Richard is considering joining the Templarate like his beloved uncle, which would reassure me greatly. Gordon is finally getting wed in spring to Ainsley, but with how those two bicker, nothing's certain. Morna and I have finally convinced her stubborn father to accept her lady, and a sweeter pair of lovebirds never nested in these halls. Maker willing, your parents will come around as well. Lastly, you are officially now a great-aunt to a wee girl I'm delighted they're calling Violet. She's small and bonny and has a pair of lungs that makes me grateful to be done with having my own. Not to frighten you off, of course. I expect a great many little ones in the upcoming years, so there will be no shortage of playmates._

_On behalf of Lord Alan Tavish Duncan Trevelyan, I am,_

_Your loving sister,_

_Lady Violette Trevelyan_

Violette.

Her first sister, and the first time she'd encountered the sort of soft, delicate femininity that hid its devastating strength so well. Alan had brought her home red-cheeked and awkward after a summer at a cousin's in Cumberland. She'd been like a porcelain doll. Evelyn, even as young as she was, had been both in utter awe of her, and aghast that she couldn't fight like Trevelyans could.

And yet Violette had many weapons, some Evelyn had never learned to wield. Perhaps she should have paid those skills more heed. Perhaps she should have stopped scorning and learned the Game. A missed opportunity.

Letting out a long, cleansing breath, Evelyn glanced up and into the fire.

It was welcome tonight, for they were back in the mountains and the air was chilling. Only two days out from Skyhold, at least, and then they could begin preparing for the next leg of their journey. They were bound for a place she had only heard about, read about, and had never traveled to. The Western Approach. How strange her life had become.

The letter helped. News from home was grounding, warm and comforting and ordinary.

And good news it was! A great-grandchild for mother. How delighted she'd be. Evelyn had forgotten entirely that there was one on the way, but she was grateful that things had gone well. Another blessing to help her through the dark times.

Evelyn handed the letter to Max by rote when he leaned against her shoulder, and he took it from her hand and scanned it over swiftly. His faint chuckle was followed by a rather rude short-hand sign, and she nudged his knee reprovingly with her own. It was difficult to keep back the smile.

“Almost fifty years old and his wife still writes his letters,” Max signed, passing the letter along to Sebastian when he glanced up from his own correspondence at her translation.

“His handwriting still looks like a child's, it's better this way,” Evelyn said with faint exasperation. “Maker knows Father tried. Poor Violette, though. I remember when she moved to Ostwick, though I was a wee thing. She was absolutely miserable for ages, everyone abandoned her- and now they're trying to get back in her good graces?”

“Maybe the Marches will finally be fashionable,” Sebastian said with gentle sarcasm, folding the letter and passing it back down. “I assume you're warning the family off of Halamshiral?”

The letter went back to Max, and then into Evelyn's hands to be tucked away. The faint scent of violets drifted up from the paper, which was amusing. You could take the Lady out of Orlais, but you couldn't take the Orlais out of the Lady, Evelyn supposed. She wondered if her brother knew his letters were going out scented with perfume.

“It would likely be wise, but I'll speak to Leliana and Josephine when we return tomorrow. At best they're trying to kiss arse, at worst it's a plot, but most likely it's just an attempt to gain some leverage. With me or my family, or both. Maker knows how much I'd love to see them, though.”

“Trust Orlais to turn peace negotiations into a ball. I was surprised to receive an invitation myself. I do have a vested interest, obviously, but I doubt that my opinion is either respected or valued.” Sebastian shook his head with a smile, unoffended.

“Oh, but Starkhaven's the least boorish and savage free city,” Evelyn said with placid amusement. “Practically a real society. Plus, purse strings are a very sturdy set of reigns. I'm sorry, Sebastian, they might just want you for your money.”

Sebastian shook his head with a half-smile. “The trade's welcome. Congratulations to...Dierdre, I believe was Alan's oldest girl? Is this her first?”

“Oh aye, it's Wee Dierdre's,” Evelyn agreed, considering it over with an amused twist of her lips. She was second-eldest of the nieces and nephews, her elder brother Young Alan in no rush to get himself an heir. “It seems the years are upon us. Nothing but births and marriages for the next five years or so, and then Liam's brood will begin the dance.”

“Brother's been leaning on Young Alan for a while now to get wed,” Max signed, rolling his eyes with a faintly audible scoff. “I'm sure worse now without Evelyn to get between them.”

“Young Alan's always been a quiet, deliberate sort of boy. He'll get along with things when he feels like it,” Evelyn dismissed with a roll of her eyes. “Alan's too demanding.”

“Boy? Young Alan's only six years younger than us,” Max pointed out with a sly quirk of his lips.

“At _any_ rate,” Evelyn said loudly, ignoring Max's continuing smirk, “Young Alan will show up home one day with someone he's been quietly courting for a year and inform his da that he's gone and gotten married and no one will have a single idea how it happened. He might be slow, but he knows his own mind. He'll do well when Alan steps down.”

“And be Lord Alan the Plodding,” Max joked, laughing breathlessly at her glare.

“Rather be plodding than hasty or careless,” Evelyn said tartly, leaning over to thumb open the strap of her satchel.

“Yes, we know,” Max signed.

She cuffed his shoulder gently, pretending offense. Her eyes had caught sight of a letter between his leather-clad thighs, half-hidden, and she hadn't been invited to read it. Normally they shared everything, which meant he didn't want her to notice it. Too bad for him.

“Max says this, you know, but he's the reason half my suitors ended up in the river,” Evelyn said, rather than let her brother have the win, fetching out a bundle from atop her things. Unfolding her embroidery, she spread it across her lap. “They are the source of so many of my troubles, and yet they tease me for the troubles all the same.”

“Brothers,” Sebastian said succinctly, but with humor in his voice.

Before Maximilian could speak, she lifted her gaze to meet Sebastian's eyes. “I hate to impose,” Evelyn said, lifting her hand to show the tremor when she pinched thumb and forefinger together.

“It's never an imposition, Evie, you know that,” Sebastian dismissed, extending a hand across Max.

Her brother watched with an curious tilt of his head as she passed over the bundle of red silk and the needle to be threaded. As she knew he would, he lifted his hands to start signing something likely teasing at her, and she took advantage of the moment to snatch the letter from his lap. Stalled, he grabbed at her as she turned her back to him and unfolded the letter.

“Was I just used?” Sebastian asked, chuckling.

After quickly scanning the letter, Evelyn passed it over blindly as Max thumped his knuckles lightly into her shoulder. He snatched it out of her two fingers, and she turned her attention back. The short-hand sign he flicked at her was utterly inappropriate, so she stared down her nose at him with Mother's best judgmental stare.

“That language is unbecoming of a Trevelyan, Maximilian.”

“Mind your business, wee scut.”

“Your business _is_ my business, you addlepated picaroon. Especially that. Why am I not to know Callum is coming to Skyhold?”

“He what?” Sebastian asked, abruptly looking concerned.

“It's called a surprise, hedgehog. Now you've ruined it.” Max was smiling again, her glare finally cutting through the fake offense. She endured the weight being leaned against her, huffing at him when he tugged the end of her braid.

“I've had enough brother surprises, I would like to know such things. Maker. I'm the bloody Inquisitor, you can't treat me like an adult?”

“Well, it was more that I wanted Sebastian to be surprised,” Max admitted, grinning over at Sebastian as he was fixed with a flat, unamused stare. “Surprise.”

“You two are _still_ on the outs?” The threaded needle was passed back to her, and Evelyn took it with a rote dip of her head in thanks, despite her annoyance. “Well, you'll have to figure out how to get along. I don't have the time or patience to broker peace.” The tart words hid her relief that Callum was joining them at last. She'd been so worried about him with the Chantry troubles. Being her brother could work out well for him, but not in the company of those who considered her a heretic.

“I bear your brother no ill will.”

“But he bears you plenty,” Max signed, clasping her shoulder, brief and warm. She rested her cheek on it until he freed himself to speak. “I promised Cassandra and Sera I'd teach them some sign. Don't fret too much about the Winter Palace thing, I'm sure someone's just trying to cozy up to the Inquisitor's family. Not everything's a trap, marplot.”

She dismissed him with a curt gesture, a reluctant smile touching her lips. Max slapped his hands on his thighs and rose to cross the camp with a loose, easy stride. The warm greetings he was given across the way didn't prickle her quite like they had before. Evelyn should be grateful he found it so easy to make friends without needing her to defend him. Still, old instincts prickled.

But she hadn't gotten him out from Mother's thumb to put him under hers, and Evelyn would do well to remember that.

“Cassandra would be a good match,” she mused, watching her brother settle down next to her, the firelight turning the white streak in his hair to gold. Part of her wished she'd gotten da's hair, black and silver was more striking than gingery brunette. And more commanding.

“Don't,” Sebastian chuckled quietly.

He was right, but that didn't mean she liked it. Evelyn wrinkled her nose at Sebastian, and he smiled, cracking open a wax seal on a letter with his thumb. She eyed it briefly. From a Lord

“Aye, aye,” she said testily, shaking her head and turning her attention back to her work. The strip of tiny twisted green vines and bright red and orange flowers was coming along well. Perhaps it could go on a dress for the new bairn. She'd have to plan it for a year or more, though, children grew so fast and she was so far from home. Sad to think Violet might be a big thing before she got to meet her. “But it's true. Cassandra never lets her shield falter.”

“As you say, Lady Dierdre.”

Glancing up sidelong, she slit her eyes, letting her lips purse together. “What, exactly, is wrong with sounding like my mother?”

“Nothing at all, she's a formidable woman. Though I hope eventually she'll despise me a bit less.” He offered her a letter, which she took with a nod, briefly setting down her needle.

Evelyn didn't particularly recall Mother having much of a negative opinion of Sebastian apart from the obvious. Frowning, she scanned the report on Starkhaven river tariffs, speaking absently. “Mother never had a lot to say about you, if I recall.”

“Not to you, perhaps. But she was the one who told my mother they'd best cart me off to the Chantry. I believe her exact words, when I was eavesdropping, were something akin to 'some might say we can't do better for Evelyn, but your son's convinced me we couldn't do worse'.”

Evelyn smiled faintly to herself, unsurprised. That sounded exactly like mother. Folding up the letter, she passed it back to Sebastian, who tipped his head. “She never said anything to _me_ over the whole debacle except that I should never accept a weak man no matter who their family was. I took it to heart. I didn't realize it was Mother that suggested you join the Chantry.”

“Aye, she told my mother she'd done a poor job of raising a good man, and she should let the Chantry have a go,” Sebastian admitted, with a small, amused quirk of his lips. “I can't say that I agree it was in any way my parents' fault, but there was some reassurance to be found there in hindsight. Despite everything, terrifying Lady Dierdre thought maybe there was something worth saving in me.”

“Trust mother to give the Princess of Starkhaven a dressing down. I quite agree with her,” Evelyn said, finishing a petal and moving on to the next. Perhaps ten seconds passed, fire crackling, chatter behind them. Between them, silence.

When she glanced up, Sebastian was staring into the fire, eyes distant. She tilted her head to the side and gazed at his profile, hands folding atop her embroidery. Her stare did nothing, so she finally exhaled heavily and spoke.

“What have I said wrong now?”

He blinked rapidly, turning his attention to her, a furrow still in his thoughtful brow. “Nothing, it's only- I worked hard to be able to admit my own foibles and sins, Evie. I don't need to be blaming anyone else for them, especially not the dead. It seems disrespectful.”

“Acknowledging that your parents treated you poorly is not blaming them for your behavior, Sebastian. We are all shaped by our upbringing, for good and for ill. Aye, we make choices, but it is the sacred duty, given by the Maker, for a parent to teach a child what they need to become a good person. Neglecting you hardly aided in that.” It was a thought that had been on her mind since his apology at Caer Bronoch.

Pity for Sebastian Vael was not at all something she wanted in her heart, but she could feel regret for the small boy she had known once. The boy that would demand her attention with mischief, who delighted in rousing her temper, and yet who always managed to sweeten her into forgiving him. For him, she could feel sorry, if she divorced him from the arrogant, lazy young man he had become.

“It isn't worth dwelling over.”

“No, certainly not, but it is something to keep in mind for when you become a father. Remembering the mistakes of the past will help us prevent repeating them, aye?” The very odd look Sebastian was giving her she found she didn't care for. “What?” she snapped.

“I find it very disorienting that you will barely let me court you, Evie, and yet you'll quite easily discuss having children, as if those two things weren't dependent on each other.”

Letting out a breath through her nose, Evelyn turned her attention down to her work. It was difficult to remember at times that he had spent so many years in the Chantry. They had led extremely different lives for a good many years. “Yes, I understand one often comes after the other, but they are two entirely different things. It's simple practicality, not sentimentality. I won't marry a man who will be a bad father, for if I choose to marry, I plan to have children- if it is the Maker's will. It's as plain as that. I can control, Sebastian, what I allow myself to endure, and how I am treated. A child does not have that luxury. It is my very first consideration of a man, how he would treat the innocent and helpless.”

Sebastian frowned, hands clasping together, forearms on his knees as he gazed into the fire intently. “That is an extremely fair point, and I do understand the practicality. I suppose it just feels premature.”

“There's no sentimentality attached to this conversation, Sebastian,” Evelyn dismissed, both annoyed and amused by his reluctance. What a strange bout of uncertainty. He was perfectly fine sending suit to her father, cutting through all the informalities, but a discussion of being a father himself stymied him? “I have just been disappointed frequently by this very basic requirement, and I find it best to be up front. It's efficient.”

“Well, you've always known your own mind,” Sebastian allowed. “But if this is so important to you, why haven't we discussed it before?”

“I haven't particularly felt the need to? I might not care for you, Sebastian, but I've never thought you would be a bad father,” Evelyn said, lips quirking up into an amused little smile. “You're the one who went and rescued a litter of puppies, I'll remind you. And at least children are supposed to be preached to, unlike me.”

That roused a small smile, rueful and surprisingly soft. He was silent again for long enough that she went back to her embroidery, putting the finishing touches on a dainty flower. When her name was called across the encampment, she glanced up, catching Cousin Dorian's beckon. Curiously she folded up her embroidery, tucking it away.

It was just as well, her eyes were only going to get worse if she strained them too hard at night.

“Evelyn?”

Rising to her feet, she glanced down curiously at the question. His eyes didn't meet hers, still fixed on the fire, faraway and unreadable.

“Aye?”

“Thank you.” There was a slight crack in his voice she didn't care to identify. Something within her cringed from his feelings, unwilling to acknowledge them. They were speaking. It didn't mean she was willing to be in the slightest bit vulnerable around him.

“It's only the truth, Sebastian. If you're grateful for it, perhaps you don't hear it enough,” she said tartly, turning to leave him.

He could keep his emotions to himself.

Lost in strange thoughts, Sebastian failed to realize he was no longer alone until there was a rough clearing of the throat across from him.

Pulling his gaze from the hypnotic peace of the fire, he stared at Varric curiously as the dwarf settled across from him. A surprise. They hadn't spoken much since Varric's attempts to feel out his motivations and earnestness with the hostility of suspicion between them.

“Well, Seeker's still mad at me, that's for sure. Max is doing what he can.”

“Is this the campfire of the banished?” Sebastian asked, smiling faintly at Varric's humorless chuckle. “Cassandra may not understand just yet, but I do. Hawke deserves all the rest we can give her.”

“I wish I didn't have to drag her into this. It's all shit,” Varric said ruefully, shaking his head. “What the hell. You want a drink, Choir Boy?”

Well. He would presume that was a friendly opening, and take it gladly. “Aye, thank you, Varric.”

“Huh. I'm surprised. The Prince a bit more relaxed than the Brother there? The pressures of rank, maybe?” Varric pushed up again.

“Were you testing me? I've discovered I'm capable of drinking without becoming drunk every single time- it seems that without the fires of rebellion driving me, it needn't turn into a vice. It's good for a man to know his limits, aye?” It was difficult to take offense. He remembered many, many nights fending off pints that would inevitably end up slopped all over his front, he didn't blame Varric for his surprise. There was even a time- “Ah, now I'm recalling carrying Merrill over one shoulder and Hawke over the other, trying to get them home while drenched in ale. Setting up home in the Hanged Man was likely the wisest thing you and Isabella ever did.”

“How did you manage that without getting vomited on?”

“Who said I did, Varric? At least Merrill asked to be put down first.”

“And somehow you still kept the armor white.” A cup was shoved at him, which he accepted with a nod. Whisky, unsurprisingly. Josephine had been keeping a few bottles on hand to suit Evelyn's preferences.

“I swore to carry the Maker's Light with me, Varric,” he replied soberly.

Varric squinted a look at him for a good five seconds until Sebastian finally cracked, laughing quietly and dropping his head. He was grateful to hear the rough chuckle from the other side of the fire, brief as it was. It was all distant enough that some of those stories were untainted now, without the shadow of devastation and pain. There were memories in Kirkwall worth remembering.

“Well, at least you've eased up on that stuff a little.”

“Oh, I'm still quite serious, but I've had to learn to compromise, Varric, aye? I've had to learn the dirty business of politics, and while the Chant is more necessary than ever for me to hold in my heart, I understand that my purpose now is to lead. By word _and_ by deed, but I cannot do either if people dismiss me due to me being-”

“Annoying?”

“Overzealous,” Sebastian finished.

“So basically what I said.”

“How long until you're made Viscount, Varric?”

Varric's dark frown made him smile, and Sebastian lifted his cup in salute before taking a small sip. The glower turned into a tired chuckle and Varric leaned forward, clasping his cup in both hands, arms on his legs. The long, slow sigh made him feel badly for the tease.

“Can you imagine Hawke having taken the position? Politics in the Free Marches would never be the same,” Sebastian said, rather than expecting Varric to continue that line of conversation.

“No way.” Varric's face cleared, and he shook his head. “She'd burn the city down again first. Sorry, Choir Boy. I get you're trying, I'm just- all this shit is starting to get to me. The damn red lyrium? And the Wardens now? How the hell are we gonna survive if we end up in a Blight on top of everything else?”

“Forces are being gathered now to clean out the lyrium from the Gallows,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “We must trust that the-”

“Yeah. It's not that I'm not grateful, it just all feels like too little too late. If only we'd _known_.”

“As Evelyn does, as we did, Varric- as Hawke did- we are all fumbling along trying to right the world with what we are given. It never feels like enough, but I have faith that we will discover in the end that we have been given what we need to succeed.”

The fire crackled, a hypnotic display of light that drew eyes down from the stars above. They were clear and crisp tonight, beautiful, but fire always lured. Varric was staring into it as well, draining his cup and then reaching for the bottle again. Sebastian sipped more slowly. No point in getting a muddled head with a long ride tomorrow.

“Are you still in love with her?”

Startled, Sebastian pulled his gaze upwards. “Evelyn?”

Varric smirked sardonically. “No. Hawke.”

There was no thought of rebelling from the idea. It was one he had wrestled with thoroughly in the past, trying to find a shape for confusing feelings. Now it simply was. Lying was pointless, and would make things complicated between them. “I don't know that it was ever the right sort of love, Varric. I was envious of her. She was- she is always so certain, and I wanted that for myself so ardently. You know how conflicted I was, with contradictory responsibilities.”

“Did you want to be with her, or be her?”

“Yes?” He replied, and then laughed, Varric's chuckle a welcome addition. “If I went back to Starkhaven with Hawke at my side, I wouldn't have had to do it alone. I wouldn't have had to face as many of my mistakes as I had. I always knew her heart was with Fenris, even when he left her. It was a comforting delusion.”

Varric gave a faint 'hmh', setting the bottle down and staring into the fire once more. There was a burst of humor from behind him, and as he glanced over his shoulder toward the laughter, he was unsurprised to see Max standing, gesturing broadly in the firelight. Trust his brother.

It was so wonderful to see him out from under Lady Dierdre's well-meaning control.

“You seem to have a thing for terrifying women.”

Drawn from his contemplation, Sebastian gave a faint laugh. “Are you calling Marian terrifying?”

“She'd be insulted if I didn't!” Varric retorted with a laugh, and then shook his head. “I'm- listen. I'm tired of being angry, honestly. What happened in Kirkwall? It was shit.”

“It was,” Sebastian allowed, brief fiery memories lighting up his mind. Surging through the city, fighting back the Qunari- the Chantry's explosion. The pain of that would never leave him. He would miss Elthina for the rest of his life, the woman who had saved him.

She was more of a mother to him than his mother ever had been.

“I know. I might not get it entirely, but I know what the Revered Mother meant to you. I understand, even if I'm not happy about how shit went down, how you abandoned us when everything went to hell. But...I understand.”

Sebastian was silent for a time. Another burst of laughter drew his gaze up, and his eyes were drawn inevitably to Evelyn. She was sitting at the edge of the firelight alone, but hopefully leaning in towards the crowd with her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were fixed on her brother, her smile surprisingly unguarded.

The sweet, temperamental girl he remembered was still there, underneath the layers of shields she had built around herself.

Some of them his fault.

“I have made many mistakes in my life. I regret all of them, but most I cannot fix. I'm grateful for those I can try to mend.” Dragging his stare away, he glanced back down, fingers tightening around the cup of whisky. “Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“I am sorry.”


	18. A Twisted Past

Skyhold was beginning to flourish.

Surveying it from the back of her horse, her eyes scanned the ongoing repairs, noting what had been completed in her absence. The walls were busier than ever, and as they approached the gate she could hear the sounds of industry, as busy as the riverside encampment. A figure high above on the walls lifted a hand, and she returned the gesture despite not knowing who it was. Her bloody eyesight again.

“Who was that?”

“The Commander, my dear,” Vivienne replied, smooth voice mild and faintly amused. “Do your eyes trouble you?”

“Not terribly. It's always been like this as far as I can recall, and it doesn't get worse- my father is the same. Family affliction. The worst part about it is the temptation to squint, which of course must be avoided at all costs.”

“Naturally. Fending off the ravages of time is practically a full-time occupation.”

“I've given up on getting rid of the freckles. They might be unfashionable, but I just can't spend all my time indoors hiding from the sun. My sister Violette and I used to spend hours devastating the kitchen trying to make the cosmetic recipes she'd get from her sister in Val Royeaux, but nothing ever worked. I'm afraid I'm doomed to be freckly.”

“Really, my dear. You're the Inquisitor. Give it half a year and every woman in Orlais will be painting on freckles.”

They shared a smile as they passed through the gate, Evelyn's rueful. Her attention was drawn away almost immediately, surveying the courtyard critically. More merchants had come to peddle their wares, and she surveyed the stalls as they passed for the stables, curiously surveying what was on offer. Sensible, practical things. Of course they were, this was a military operation.

Still, it was a disappointment.

Coming back here brought it all back. On missions, it was easier, she had a singular goal to focus on and accomplish. It could be horrifying, tiring, burdensome, miserable, but the _weight_ was not so heavy. Returning to Skyhold only reminded her of how many insurmountable tasks awaited her.

It was crushing.

“What's been so cruel as to steal your smile away, Evie?”

Wrinkling her nose, she glanced down as a hand stalled her horse. Normally she'd say something sharp to Sebastian for his interference, but in her distraction she'd almost passed the dismounting block. Not that she needed it, but in the armor it was helpful.

“I'm too frivolous to lead a military organization,” she retorted with a sigh. The hand offered to her was polite, but she ignored it with a scoff, dismounting on her own. He withdrew the offer, smile unchanging.

Bloody pain in the arse.

“I don't think so, and I doubt anyone else does, either.”

She followed as he led her horse to the stable, wondering how long it would take before her bath was prepared. Likely long enough for her to go brief Cullen, though he'd doubtless gotten her missive by now. He'd have preparations for their trek to the Approach well in hand. She knew she could count on the Commander.

“I just want to buy something pointless and pretty, is that too much to ask? It feels as if it is. The Inquisitor shouldn't be longing for a new dress or something sparkly. She should be, apparently, eschewing fashion altogether.”

“Well, you did sacrifice your dress for the pups, Evelyn. It seems perfectly reasonable to me that you should get yourself a pretty new frock or two. I think part of being the Inquisitor is that you don't have to worry about what people tell you to wear, aye?”

“It's not so simple,” she retorted testily, annoyed with his bloody-minded ignorance. Why did he have to bother her when her mood was sinking? It was as if he enjoyed painting a target on himself. “That simply isn't how this works, Sebastian. There are implications to everything. I can't sit to judgment in a Marcher's day dress, the Orlesians already snicker about us as it is. Maker forbid.”

“Evie, if your hall can be full of Orlesians for some reason traveling the blasted Frostbacks in gigantic hats and beaked masks and whatever other abominations of fashion they've created, I don't think anyone has the right to tell you that you can't be in a dress.”

That got her to laugh, bitter amusement quickly fading. Evelyn accepted her bags from the groom as the still-unnamed Forder was freed from his tack. She slung the satchel over her shoulder, ignoring the hand offering to take it for her. He was being almost infuriatingly solicitous, and had been the whole trek home. It bothered her that she was starting to become accustomed to it.

In her current state, she wasn't inclined to accept it.

“It sounds reasonable, Sebastian, but I know people don't take me seriously enough unless I look 'military' for official functions. It's bad enough that the blasted chair swallows me alive. I have a few day dresses Max brought from home that I can wear in my brief moments of rest, it'll have to do.”

She turned to leave with him doggedly at her side, giving Blackwall a nod in passing. He returned it to both of them. Max had gone ahead somewhere, and she scanned the courtyard briefly to make sure before heading towards the stairs.

“I need to speak to the Commander to make sure he received my messages, and that things are being prepared for the next step of our journey. Go away, won't you?”

“The Commander-” There was a hesitance to his voice that made her pause at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to face him. A conflicted look on Sebastian's face, which only deepened as she tilted her head. It momentarily silenced her petty annoyance.

“What is it?”

“It can wait, Evie. We've only just gotten in, that was a long trek. How hungry are you?”

“More desperate for a bath than a meal,” she replied, still searching his expression curiously. “Feeling road worn and tired, but not terribly hungry.”

“Then I've got a bit. May I make you dinner tonight?”

She folded her arms across her armored coat, raising both eyebrows. “Sebastian, we have people for that. You can't be serious. You'll just be underfoot, annoying people just trying to do their jobs. People can't argue with the bloody Prince of Starkhaven.”

“I do help in the kitchen when we're here, Evie. I know how not to get underfoot,” he replied, openly amused. Arms folded over his white breastplate, his head tilting to the side. His hair was getting a bit long. It'd have to be seen to.

“There's absolutely no point in it,” she dismissed curtly, cutting a hand through the air. “It's not practical.”

“Courting isn't supposed to be practical, Evie. And no, I haven't forgotten you agreed.”

Damn him.

Caught, she pressed her lips together into a thin line. Frustration that she was willing to admit was petty and ridiculous rose, but she'd held herself back before and was feeling quite done with him. It wasn't as if she hadn't warned him. Certainly she was being childish, but if he was determined, then he'd have to live with it.

There was far too much emotional momentum to stop herself, even if she knew she should.

“I'm going to leave you here if you don't stop pestering me, Sebastian,” she snapped loudly, forgetting to be discreet. “I will. I'll have you- you thrown in the dungeon. Maybe then you'll be convinced to leave me _be_. I said you could engage in your farce, I didn't say I would play along with the stupidity. Stop harassing me, or I will have you thrown off the battlements, Prince Vael.”

Sebastian glanced past her shoulder, smile finally fading.

“Evelyn? Is everything all right?”

Closing her eyes, she let out a small sigh through her nose. Cullen. Of course her little fit of petulance had to be witnessed. Maker, how embarrassing.

Schooling her expression, she half-turned, glancing up the stairs into the Commander's worried face. “I'm sorry, Cullen. I'll be right there. Could you give me a moment?”

The concern in his expression didn't fade, forehead furrowing. “Are you certain?”

“Quite,” she assured him with a gracious smile, inclining her head. “I just need to speak to Prince Vael for a moment. I'll be right along.”

“As you say,” Cullen said, guarded.

She nodded her head and turned back, nose wrinkling. Of course someone had to watch her be an ass. No freedom for the Inquisitor. Sebastian was gazing past her shoulder, smile intact, but it widened when he turned it back to her, blue eyes soft.

“Worked that poison out of your veins, Evie?”

“Yes,” she sighed, lifting two fingers and rubbing her forehead. “Every time I come back here it's like the weight of it all lands back on my shoulders. I should be happy to be back, but there's just so much to be done...it doesn't matter why. Those are just excuses. That was unworthy of me, I'm sorry.”

“You're forgiven. I'm afraid I'm not relenting, though. I promise it'll be more than edible.”

“Trouble me no more,” she sighed wearily, grudgingly smiling at his chuckle. “Very well. I wish you would stop being so tolerant, though. It makes me feel like a bully.”

“When the weight of all Thedas is no longer resting on your shoulders, when I've properly won your friendship and made amends, and when I'm able to give the Princess of Starkhaven all the frivolous things her heart desires-” He smiled at her scoff. “If you're still resisting every single attempt to try to be nice to you, I'll start being concerned. Until then, I don't plan to be.”

“You might regret that,” she told him, fighting off the slight warmth that tried to force a smile to her lips.

“I'll leave you to your strategy meeting. An hour after sundown acceptable?”

“Aye,” Evelyn sighed, relenting. “As you will, Prince thorn in my side. Shoo, begone with you. Don't expect me to be kind if it's inedible.”

Rather than wait for a response, she turned on her heel and trudged up the stairs, satchel over her shoulder. Evelyn could admit, at least to herself, that she did feel a bit better. Still, he didn't need to know that. It would only encourage him.

Pausing at the top, she turned, and found him still at the bottom. There was a curiously conflicted look on his face, but it disappeared when she met his eyes. Questioningly he tilted his head.

“Yes, my Lady?”

“You need a haircut.”

“I'll see if Josephine can find someone to tend to it. By your leave, Evie?”

She flicked her fingers in dismissal and turned, mounting the battlements at last. Cullen's door was open, as it generally was, and she dropped her satchel past the threshold, shrugging off her leather coat, heavy with its metal plates. She never felt the weight until it was off, and then what a relief it was.

“Maker, if only I had the time to spare a day or two, but this situation with the Wardens is too horrifying to wait on,” she sighed. The coat fell heavily to the floor, on top of her bag. “We cannot lose them all. I cannot believe the Calling is real. I have to believe that this is some sort of plot by Cory-”

“Inquisitor, do you need me to have Vael removed from Skyhold?”

Blinking, confused by both the words and the tense, cold tone of voice, Evelyn looked up at Cullen at last. He was staring at her with a particularly intent stare, arms crossed. The abrupt statement had her stunned, confusion escaping in a small humorless laugh.

“I- what? Maker, Cullen. I'm sorry, you must think me an utter boor! No, no. Really, everything is all right.”

He frowned, arms dropping. “I know that you may feel obligated, but Inquisitor-”

“Evelyn. Please, I've asked you before,” she protested, profoundly confused and upset.

Cullen's expression softened, as did his voice. It relieved her. “Evelyn, then. I realize that a woman in your position- a woman of your birth has certain obligations, but you _are_ the Inquisitor now. You cannot be forced to endure his company. Just say the word, and I will ensure he is gone from Skyhold.”

Sighing, she approached the desk, working off her riding gloves one at a time. Her hands were so rough now, callouses catching on the soft sueded leather as she twisted them in her hands. “I take my foul moods out on Sebastian. I'm afraid you caught me being exceedingly ill-mannered. For that I'm sorry.”

“It isn't your fault,” he replied, hands gripping the edge of the desk. “Vael is-”

“For better or worse, my betrothed,” she interrupted, feeling a surge of humor. It was kind of him to take her seriously, but he should really learn not to. “Cullen. It's all right. He just brings out the poor manners in me.”

“May I speak plainly?” He looked up from the desk to her face, eyes oddly intent. She found herself arrested by that stare, confused by the intensity of it. When she inclined her head slightly, he sighed. “I find myself concerned. Both as your Commander and as- and as myself. When the Knight Commander- when Kirkwall nearly fell, I fought. I am not a perfect man, far from it. But that night I did the right thing. I fought beside Hawke.”

“It must have been difficult to turn on your own Commander like that,” she said, quietly sympathetic.

“It was. And Vael left. He left us all to fight without him.”

_What?_

Frowning, she stared into his eyes, seeing nothing but earnestness. “I never heard that.”

“He did. He argued with Hawke, and left. I cannot speak to his reasonings, but- now he is here, Evelyn. Neglecting his duty once again. I only wonder- I suppose I am concerned. For you. It might be best if you told him to go back to Starkhaven. I would hate for him to cause you any more suffering, when you have such a burden of duty on your shoulders.”

“I-” Frowning, she turned her attention down to the desk. Of course he had been diligent in his duties and correspondence, but was Cullen really wrong? A ruler absent for long periods could not hope to keep control of his own lands. Presence was required.

“I appreciate your concern, Cullen. Truly, that isn't lip service. I think right now we should discuss our trek to the Western Approach. There is a great deal to do.”

“Of course, Evelyn,” Cullen assured her, his frown fading as she glanced up at him and offered her best smile.

“Maybe one of these times you'll remember my name the first time around,” she teased him.

His small, chagrined laugh made her smile.

“Who would miss Orlais?”

The question was waiting for him when the door to her rooms was opened for him. Balancing his burden carefully, Sebastian began navigating the stairs up to Evelyn's room- the curious cavern that it was. It wasn't a genuine question, but he considered it all the same.

“I expect at least the people who live there, Evie.”

Her exasperated sigh brought a smile to his lips. Mounting the stairs, he was struck all over again by the sheer scale of what she'd been ensconced in. It wasn't only the size of room itself, but the height of it, the massive balconies that surrounded it.

Evelyn was seated in front of the fire on an ornate rug that seemed new, damp hair spilling down around her as she worked a comb through it. He was gratified to see she'd changed into a dress, deep ochre with an overskirt of scarlet, warm brilliant colors. It meant she felt comfortable.

“If I leave it up to my family, they'll go to Halamshiral. It's not a danger to the Inquisition. I know they can handle themselves. I'm just afraid I'll be splitting my attention, and they'll be in danger.”

“That's reason enough,” he said, setting the tray down on the table before the small settee. “Your father would understand.”

“Aye, aye, aye,” she snapped testily. There was a sigh, and she finally glanced over her shoulder at him, firelight gleaming across the curve of her cheek. “It's Violette.”

“What about her, Evie?”

“I just feel a bit of...responsibility? She lost so many people when she married Alan. Now, suddenly, we're worth caring about. I could be a way for her to- to reforge those connections. I could use this to raise the profile of my whole family. But it feels like bowing to Orlais, in a way. Begging for their approval.”

“I can see how that would grate on you, aye. Can I get you a drink, Evie?”

Her eyes were penetrating, more gray than green with the firelight behind her. There was a tightening of her lips, and then they relaxed, exhaling a sigh. “Why didn't you fight in Kirkwall, Sebastian? Why did you leave when they needed you most?”

It stalled him for a moment. Had Varric said something to her, despite their discussion? No, no. Varric would have been upfront, would have told him that he was going to do so. It had to have been Cullen.

Would that mean he wouldn't believe her?

All he could do was be honest, and hope it was enough. It wasn't a lie. It was simply-

“Complicated. The answer is complicated, Evie. If you're feeling patient, though, I'll tell it all to you. Will you come eat, before dinner gets cold?”

“Aye,” she said simply, rising from the floor. Leaving the comb behind, she raked her hair forward over her shoulder, a waterfall of twisted waves. “Though I'm holding to what I said, if it's awful I won't finish it.”

“I had to dig a bit to find something from home,” he admitted, pacing away as she sank into the embrace of the settee, fingers still twisting her hair to contain it. A bottle was on her desk, waiting with glassware, and he poured a more generous measure in each than he would generally. “Luckily some things travel better than others.”

The soft chime of the cover being removed from the tray eclipsed the quiet crackle of the fire. It was so distant here, aloof and far from the noise of Skyhold. His mind was racing, instincts telling him to try and make the best showing for himself that he could from this story. But no.

No, brutal honesty was best.

“Smoked fish stew.”

“I remember it being your favourite when we were small,” he said, returning to the settee, handing her the whisky.

Evelyn took it in one hand, surveying the tray with a soft purse of her lips. “Oh aye. Especially when we would get fish in from the coast from grandfather. Is this river fish? From home?”

“Kirkwall,” he replied simply.

“Kirkwall,” she said quietly, setting the glass down next to her bowl. “What happened, Sebastian?”

“When-” For a moment his mind wandered, trying to find a beginning point to the story. It had to be with her. “When I was sent to the Chantry, Evie. I was miserable. Absolutely miserable. I made a plan to escape, and Revered Mother Elthina caught me. She- she understood. She sent me away with coin in my pocket.”

Evelyn listened silently, reaching for a spoon and dragging it through the stew. Gently she scooped up a small bite, and scraped the back of the spoon across the rim of the bowl as she drew it out. Her face gave nothing away.

“I...it was the first time someone had told me that I had a choice. So I made it. I went back, I chose to give myself to the will of the Maker, and I felt such a relief. I felt a sense of belonging, for the first time. She was so wise.”

“So in the end, you did choose.”

“I did, I was there by choice,” he agreed, nodding his head. “She guided me. She saved me, Evie. You said before that your mother told mine that perhaps the Chantry could make me into the man I should have been? It was true, and it was her.”

“She gave you what you needed,” Evelyn said, spoon clinking gently against the bowl again.

“She did. I loved her. I found such peace in the Chantry, and such purpose in helping people. I felt wanted, and useful, and more than just a pointless spare. And then Anders destroyed the Chantry, murdering everyone within its walls.”

The spoon stilled, dipping back into the milky broth. She abandoned it, reaching for her glass instead. He found his own to hand, but merely turned it in his fingers, textured glass slick.

“He killed her. Hawke would not kill him for the crime. I begged her, pleaded. I said cruel things, and so did she. My whole world was dead, Evie. I left. I have regretted it ever since, but I buried it, hid it. I let it feel righteous, pretended it was the Maker's will. After all, didn't Kirkwall do it to herself? They destroyed the Chantry, of course the Maker would abandon them.”

“Sebastian,” she said quietly.

“I-” He felt his voice fail him, and lifted the whisky for a sip. It burned its way down, cleansing his throat. “I have been wrong many times in my life. I am both blessed and unfortunate that my crimes harm far more than my own self. Blessed because I they make themselves known so quickly so that I may rectify them. Hopefully before they harm too many.”

“The apostate, that's what you called him before. The one you wanted revenge against.”

He met her eyes, so solemn and so close. It was the first time he realized how close they were here, sitting practically knee to knee. She always put space between them.

“The people who killed my family took coin, and the people who hired them wanted power. It was an easy choice to defeat them. I thought it was an easy choice to destroy him, and my friends feeling otherwise felt like...a betrayal, Evie.”

“Cullen thinks you are running away again by being here. Neglecting Starkhaven.” It was said deliberately and soft, and he could not feel pleased when she went back to the stew, tearing off a small piece of dark bread. The words stuck in his chest.

A barb to his heart.

But no, he had to believe-

“The Maker wants me at your side, Evie. You have not said otherwise.”

“Should I?” Her gaze was sidelong, evasive, and he couldn't quite meet it. Shadowed mysteries in her eyes.

“If that is your will, but-”

He shouldn't say anything. Some part of him knew it, knew it could make him sound jealous and resentful. All he could do was trust Evelyn would believe him, and understand.

“Evie. Cullen has not been honest with you, either.”

The spoon paused at the edge of the bowl, a droplet of white gravy rolling along its curve to drop into the bowl. She tapped it, twice, and then lifted it. As she took the bite he turned to his own neglected meal, head lowering.

Seconds passed in silence, until she set her spoon aside.

Her whisky was lifted. “What do you mean?”

“Your Commander is- for lack of a better word- smitten with you. And before you challenge me, Hawke confirmed it before I said it out loud. I expect if you ask around, you might find other people have noticed.”

Her whisky was drained in one long draught, amber liquid spilling into her mouth. The glass was set down with a clack, and she stared blindly across the chamber at a wall. He watched her unfocused eyes.

Two breaths.

Four.

Evelyn went back to her dinner, setting the glass aside.

Seconds passed by with a heavy silence punctuated by the clink of silverware. He could not eat, uncertainty roiling in his stomach like a sea during a storm. Finally her spoon clinked heavily into the bowl, and he realized she had nearly finished what he had made for her.

It was difficult to feel pleased.

“Thank you for dinner.”

“I would be delighted to cook for you again, Evie.”

Her face remained blank. “If you'll excuse me, I believe I need to go for a walk to get some air,” she said quietly, rising to her feet.

He rose out of habit, and gave a half-bow as she swept past him, unbound hair fluttering behind her, skirts twisting around her ankles. It wasn't the reaction he was expecting. Neither from her, nor from him.

Why was he so uneasy?

If what she wanted was someone else, he'd decided he'd gladly step aside. And yet, in this moment, he could not feel at peace with it. As she disappeared down the stairs, everything within him demanded he call after her.

He did not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the recipe in question is called cullen skink and it makes me giggle


	19. Replacing Things Lost

It was a beautiful night.

Tomorrow they would be on the road again, and she should enjoy this peace while she had it. Luckily, the profound unease and shock she had been handed momentarily pushed away all other concerns, and the weight of responsibility was shunted aside. Small favors?

It was difficult to feel that it was.

The lights of the tavern beckoned, Skyhold still quite busy this early. She had no doubt there would be a few muddled heads in the saddle come morning, but Evelyn couldn't begrudge them. If that was what it took to chase away memories of bloated corpses and demons, so be it. Her target was no doubt within.

Music played, people chattered, laughter and noise enveloping her as she pushed inside. Hands twisting in her hair uneasily, she felt herself shy aside from stares and the crowd, but purpose demanded she keep moving. He was here, he would be found. And then she would find the truth.

Scanning the room, her eyes caught Max's curiously boring into her from across the room. Cards in his hands. He was playing a game with Varric and Dorian.

“Don't worry about me, I only need to speak to someone,” she signed him with a smile, movements of her fingers brisk. One of the benefits of sign. No need to shout across a room.

“Here I am, trying to give you and Sebastian privacy, and you've ditched him,” he replied, rolling his eyes and grinning.

“Stop meddling.”

“No,” he signed shortly, and went back to his game with a smirk.

Sighing, she began forging her way through the room, catching sight of her quarry halfway across the room, behind one of the pillars. Bull was already waiting for her, eyes meeting hers the instant she came into view. She wasn't surprised.

“Do you have a minute for me?” she signed, a bit slower. She was certain he'd picked up their dialect by now, but it was polite.

“Of course, Boss,” he called over, rising to his feet.

It wasn't private, and she knew Max could read her lips across a room, but she wouldn't keep this from him. As the Bull navigated the crowd with ease and a few clapped shoulders, she tried to still her hands- not that she doubted he already knew she was nervous, but it was a good habit to stifle her tells. Letting her hair free, she tugged down the front of her overdress, folding her hands together neatly.

“I apologize for interrupting your evening.”

“No problem. What's on your mind?”

“I have difficulty being open about my personal affairs, which I'm certain you've noticed by now. I have a propensity for being reticent. If this takes me a moment to get to the point, I apologize.”

“You also get more formal when you're upset,” Bull replied, and grinned at her exasperated huff. “Sorry.”

“No, that's actually good to know. Knowing yourself is the first step in self-control. I ah- I need confirmation of a- well, I wouldn't call it a rumor. Bit of information? That Sebastian handed me this evening.”

“Well, you've probably come to the right guy, yeah.”

It was so hard to say out loud. She had to make the attempt, though. Having confirmation would mean that she could decide how to handle it. “The Commander- Sebastian informed me that the Commander might have- that Cullen might have certain inclinations towards-”

“You mean that Cullen's got a thing for you? Yeah. Stares all moony at you when you're not looking.” He didn't have the grace not to look amused, grin widening as her shoulders slumped.

“ _Shit_.”

Bull laughed, reaching out and giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder. “You okay?”

Unaccustomed to casual touch from anyone but family, Evelyn found it wasn't as uncomfortable as anticipated. She smiled ruefully. “I'll be fine, I just despise complications. Life is complicated enough right now without sentimental nonsense. How hard is my brother staring at me right now?”

“Pretty hard,” Bull confirmed, lips twitching into a smirk. “Sentimental nonsense? Ouch. I hope you don't phrase it like that to the poor guy.”

“I have _some_ tact, Bull!”

“Hey, I'm just saying. Guys can be pretty sensitive. You want a drink?”

“I should probably go talk to my brother before he gets more annoyed,” she sighed, glancing over her shoulder. Max caught her eyes, and then pointedly leaned over, grabbing an empty stool from the table next to him and dragging it over. Of course he did.

“Yeah, I know. I'm not gonna miss this.”

Whipping her head back, she narrowed her eyes at Bull, who just grinned. It wouldn't be glared away, so she relented with a sigh. “Maker. Well, apparently everyone knew but me already, so why not. If they don't have any good whisky, I'll have an ale. Anything but wine.”

“You got it.”

Succumbing to the inevitable, she pushed off from the pillar and began navigating her way to Max. She really should have hidden behind the stairs. As she approached, Dorian and Varric glanced up at her curiously.

“We dealing you in?” Varric asked.

It wasn't what she'd been expecting to be asked, and it briefly stalled her. Blinking, she gave a small shake of her head and forced a smile. “It's all right. Max just wanted to speak to me, I don't want to interrupt your game.”

“You can talk and play a round, can't you?” Dorian asked her, raising a brow.

“Evie? No,” Max signed, her nose wrinkling as she translated out of habit.

Sinking down onto the stool next to him, she nudged Max in the ribs with her elbow, and then leaned in as he slung an arm around her. Giving in, she sighed and rested her head on his chest. It made it difficult to talk, but she needed the comfort right now.

“Well, that's a particularly miserable expression.”

“I'll be fine, Dorian,” she assured, glancing up at Max's cards as he picked up the hand Varric dealt him. “I just hate complications.”

“Oh no. What now? Let me guess, an Archdemon just got crowned King of Nevarra,” Varric said tiredly.

“No, though we did just stop him from being assassinated,” Evelyn replied quietly, one hand on the table to sign idly as she spoke. Not fair to leave Max out.

“Did we? Poor Cassandra. She could have been sixtieth in line for the throne.” Dorian said flippantly.

“Seventy seventh,” Evelyn corrected quietly.

“Whatever. Excuse me? Can I help you?”

“I can help myself, thanks,” Bull replied, and she glanced sidelong at the noisy scoot of a chair. A glass was set down in front of her, at nose-height in her slumped state. “Here ya go, Boss. Deal me in, Varric.”

“You got it.”

The arm around her gave a small rub to her back and then squeezed before releasing her. Sighing, she reluctantly pulled herself up to sit like a person, as much as she didn't want to. Too many eyes on her, and not just at this table. Evelyn remembered now why she didn't come here.

“So how long have people been gossiping about this?” she sniped, reaching for her cup, peering into it. Whisky. Taking a sip, she tried not to grimace at how rough it was. She probably should have specified what 'good' whisky was, but it'd do.

“Well, considering I just found out, I've got no idea,” Max signed.

“Oh, for a while,” Bull said, and then clarified for the other two. “She just found out about Cullen.”

“So he finally made a move?” Varric asked with a chuckle, his smile turning apologetic when she turned a woebegone look on him.

“I cannot believe you all betrayed me by saying nothing. No. Sebastian told me.”

“Of course he did,” Varric said with obvious disappointment.

“What's wrong with that?” she asked, glancing from him to Dorian as the latter gave a loud 'tsk'.

“Because he's gone and ruined it, cousin. This had the makings of a classic, brilliant love triangle, you know. It was the absolute perfect setup, something straight out of a novel. A complicated past with a handsome Prince from the rugged, windswept Free Marches-”

“It's not any windier than anywhere else,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“Shut up! I'm trying to speak,” Dorian ordered her, and she scowled at him.

She glanced around the table for support, but there was none to be found. Even Max was smirking at her, and she stuck her tongue out at him. He nudged her in the side, but she ignored him, taking another sip of her inferior whisky.

“A loveless arranged marriage.” Dorian held up a finger when she opened her mouth to protest again. “And then on the other hand, you've got the baseborn Commander, adoring his noble leader from afar, but knowing she has been promised to another man. Still, his heart yearns for her, knowing he could show her what true desire is.”

“Maker save me,” she protested, covering her face in the vain hopes of hiding her red cheeks.

“I know stories, and it's a pretty good one,” Varric said, chuckling. “Cliche, but, you know. People _love_ cliches.”

“I am tired of people making up stories about me!”

“Then you sure are in the wrong line of work, Inquisitor.”

“Fuck,” she said irritably. The stares it garnered her had her bristling, drawing herself up. “What? I can curse!”

“It's like hearing a horse moo,” Dorian said, smiling slyly at her as she glared at him.

“You have no idea how much she curses.” Max smirked at her as she elbowed him, pausing to send two cards across the table to Varric. “She just signs it so people don't hear it. So what are you going to do about this, Evie?”

Sighing, she rested her arms on the table and leaned forward, staring into the cup. It might be cowardly, but... “Nothing. Why should I? He hasn't said anything, and whatever brief infatuation he might feel, if it is indeed true-”

“It is,” Bull and Dorian said almost at the same time.

“If it _is_ true,” she repeated, louder, and endured the laughter, “it would be disrespectful to my betrothed for him to say anything. The Commander doesn't strike me as a disrespectful man.”

“So you're just going to let him stew?” Varric asked her.

“Why must the feelings of a man be my responsibility simply because he has them, Varric?” she inquired tartly.

“That's... pretty fair, actually,” Varric allowed.

“Yes it is complicated, because I actually had thought that we were friends. Or at least friendly. Am I disappointed to find that is not the case? Yes. It hurts my feelings.”

“Sorry, Evie,” Max leaned over and kissed her on the side of her head.

“It's all right,” she sighed quietly, leaning in to him. “Perhaps once he's over it there might be a friendship to be salvaged. I would like that.”

“So that's it? Is there no romance at all in your soul, cousin?” Dorian asked her disapprovingly. “You find out a man is besotted with you, and you're just going to ignore it?”

“What consideration is there to be had? I'm going to marry Sebastian once he gets tired of playing at courting me, and that's it.” She searched the bottom of her cup for composure, letting the whisky burn its way into her stomach to join the previous one. Not enough space between them, because her head was starting to feel light.

When she set down the empty cup, another one was being slid onto the table by a passing servant. She gave Bull an accusing look, and only then realized that she was being stared at again. Ugh. “What?” she demanded, finding herself picking up the cup.

“Evie, is Sebastian courting you?” Max signed, lips quirked up into an amused smile.

“He demanded it,” she declared with a roll of her eyes. “Apparently he won't marry someone who hates him. I don't know why he's so dead set on marrying me, then, because I despise the man.” She ignored the fact that it wasn't as true as she had once thought. No, her feelings towards him had been more complicated than that, and twisted up in her own shame and anger at herself. Still, it felt bolstering to say.

Hate was so easy.

“Oh now, this is a whole new facet to the story,” Dorian declared, intrigued. “It could be a redemption arc instead of a love triangle. Or maybe both? The proud prince discovers his own secret passions-”

“Stop it!” she snapped at Dorian, but found herself laughing along with everyone else. “Why are you so terrible?”

Luckily they left off pestering her there.

She leaned in to Max again and quietly translated for him as he enjoyed his game, content to just sit and be for a time. The whisky chased away the thoughts in her head and let it empty, though she didn't finish it. If she did she knew Bull would just bring her another one. Hovering on the edge of drunkenness but not spilling over would keep her from a headache tomorrow.

Eventually she grew tired of being translator and let Bull take over, slumping over into Max's lap, letting all the noise wash over her. With her head on his knee she stared blankly under the table, somewhere between a doze and meditation, letting her mind wander. She just couldn't expend any emotion or energy on the nonsense. There was so much to do.

Whatever Cullen's minor infatuation was with, be it the Inquisitor or her physical appearance, such things were shallow and easy to recover from. She had to believe he wouldn't be impolitic enough to say anything. Still, the loss of comfort with him was regrettable, a pain that she would be carrying for some time.

Evelyn had so depended upon being able to breathe and just be herself around him.

If Max wasn't here she'd be miserable.

“You okay down there?”

Varric's head ducked under the table. She gave him a faint smile, brushing hair out of her face. “Yes. This is nice,” she said. “I hate the feeling of everyone staring at me.”

“Hey, as long as you're comfortable.”

He started pulling back up, and she stalled him quickly. “Varric?”

“Yeah?”

“Sebastian told me why he didn't fight in Kirkwall after Hawke refused to kill Anders. Why didn't you tell me that part when I was asking you about it all? Wasn't it important? Wasn't that why you were so angry at him?”

Varric frowned, and then let out a sigh through his nose. “I don't know. Was I mad at him for it? Sure. But I was there in the middle, and every choice was shit. All of it was. And Sebastian, no matter what I think of him, well. He's always upfront with you, you always know where he stands. Hawke knew it'd be the last thing to push him away, and she did it anyways. No one was surprised. It seemed inevitable.”

“He did make the choice, though.”

“We all lost things in Kirkwall, but we found things, too. I don't think he did. I think he just lost. I'm getting a crick in my neck.”

As he disappeared, she gave a faint 'hm' to herself.

When she dragged her very drunk brother to sleep it off in her bed later, (considering she didn't actually know where Josephine had put him) there was no sign of the interrupted dinner. She missed them on her first survey of the room, but after pouring Max into her bed and convincing him to take off his boots, she noticed something on her desk. A bouquet of mountain wildflowers had been tucked into a pilfered tankard, left next to her letters waiting to go out.

Evelyn wandered over and ran her fingers through the pretty purple and yellow blossoms. Simple and common, but charming and bright. It was a surprising gesture, but sweet.

At least there was no one here to see her smiling over them.

Ridiculous man.

Or...a stray thought had her stalling, the smile fading into a frown. She stared at the poor unoffensive flowers, crossing her arms under her chest. It had been Sebastian who left them, hadn't it been?

It better have.

The morning's delivery was very poorly timed.

Sebastian was quite certain he should properly talk to Evie, make sure she was feeling all right before he went springing such things on her, but it was a rather large thing to hide. Especially when they were leaving in less than an hour. He'd been expecting it to take another week, but it seemed the roads to Skyhold were becoming passable more quickly than expected.

“She's a beautiful beast. I don't think I've seen one before,” Dennet said, taking pity on his attempting to juggle both the halter and parcel the messenger had brought him.

“She's a Free Marches Ranger, a recent breed. Her family's involved with the breeding of them, but this mare's from Tantervale.”

“Looks sturdy. Healthy.” Dennet checked the pale gold and white horse's teeth, chuckling as she snorted in offense and pulled back, tossing her head. “A bit willful.”

“They're known for it. It shouldn't be any trouble, this one was hand-picked for Evelyn. They should get along well, I just need to make certain-”

“Your Lady's on her way,” Blackwall interrupted, poking his head back into the stable.

“Thank you, Warden Blackwall. I appreciate you playing lookout.” Sebastian nodded to Dennet and turned to head out. Blinking in the sunlight, he emerged from the shadow, shading his eyes with a hand. Supplies were waiting in the courtyard to be loaded up, though he knew their accompaniment was preparing down at the riverside camp.

Evelyn had paused to speak with Josephine, who was red-cheeked and breathing heavily, clipboard clasped in both hands. More work for the poor woman than anyone should bear. She handled it impressively, though, certainly far better than Sebastian could ever boast.

He approached deliberately, making sure Evie saw him and nodded before closing the space.

“It is far too much to ask, but sometimes being seen is of the utmost importance. I apologize for asking this of you, but if you could pause at Val Firmin and accept hospitality for the night from the Marquis, it would aid us greatly.”

“I suppose if the Marquis wants to be seen publicly supporting us, I should be grateful,” Evelyn sighed, lips pursing softly. Finally she nodded in agreement. “I will. This isn't putting us on one side or another in a conflict, is it?”

“Only a minor one. There will be no repercussions for _us_ because of it,” Josephine assured.

“I trust you. Then feel free to send word ahead, make the request, warn him, whatever it is we need to do. Is that everything?”

“For now. There is always more, but we cannot spread ourselves too thin. Especially not you, Inquisitor. Prince Vael.” Josephine inclined her head.

“Lady Montilyet.”

“I wish you good luck and safety on your journey. Maker keep you safe.”

She withdrew, and Sebastian waited for the pleasant, affable expression on Evie's face to fade. It did, but to his great relief didn't disappear altogether. When she glanced up at him, lips twisting wryly, there was humor in her eyes instead of the blank stare from last night that had unsettled him so.

“Maximilian is going to be _miserable_ today,” she informed him with impish relish.

“Drank too much?”

“I almost joined him. But we're free of mud! Now we can all be miserable about sand, won't that be lovely? Thank you for the flowers.”

“Not going to tease me for attempting to be sentimental?”

“No, I'm just relieved it was _you_ that left them,” she said significantly.

Nervousness that he hadn't even realized was lingering eased, taking a weight from his shoulders. The Commander's affections might not have been welcomed after all. Should he say something, or leave it be?

No, there were more pressing matters. Whatever she would share would be of her own will, and whatever she chose was her choice. He had struggled for a good portion of the night over it, but in the end he had to stand by what he decided.

He had no right to make demands of her.

“You're going to think I'm being pushy, I fear. Would it soothe your temper any if I assured you that I arranged this gift I'm about to give you before you agreed to court me, and that I didn't expect it to be here until we returned?”

“Well, now you're just being mysterious,” she retorted, arms folding.

“Come,” he invited, offering her arm. She just pursed her lips and glared at the gesture, but he could see the slight twitch of her lips. “Ah well, perhaps one of these times.”

When he turned to head back into the stable, she followed. The shift once again to the shade momentarily robbed vision, but he could hear the instant her eyes adjusted. A swift intake of breath, followed by a light, disbelieving laugh.

“She looks just like my Rainee.”

“Angus hand-picked her for you, so I don't doubt it,” Sebastian said, smiling as she swept past him, immediately going for the horse. He watched as she introduced herself, keeping back from the moment. It was for her. “He sent along her lineage, I wouldn't be surprised if she was closely related to your Rainee. I'm sorry you lost her.”

Evelyn ran hands down the mare's neck, the beast curiously nibbling at her coat. Her voice, when she spoke, was so tightly controlled that he knew it hid some emotion from him. “It is difficult to mourn a horse when you lost family as well. It feels petty.”

He dropped his head, trying to keep his voice steady. She wouldn't want to hear his sympathy. “I can't bring any of it back for you, and I regret that. But I know how much you love your horses, Evie, and I hope she brings you some comfort and joy. Should we bring a spare for you in case she's too temperamental?”

“No, no. That wouldn't be giving her a fair chance,” Evelyn denied quickly. “There's nothing wrong with a girl knowing her own mind, aye?”

“Aye. I ah- expected your brother to write a letter to be sent along with her, but he didn't. I'm sorry.”

“That's Angus,” Evelyn dismissed with a laugh. “Even if he did send one it would just say something like 'Evelyn, don't die. Respectfully, Knight-Lieutenant Trevelyan'. Picking out this girl for me is all the reassurance I need from him, it means he cares.”

The mare was kissed on the nose, and blew an offended snort into Evelyn's face that made her laugh. Pulling back, cheeks charmingly pink, she nodded her head to the horsemaster. “She'll do. Tack her up for our trek. Thank you so much.”

This time she walked by his side as they left the stable, and he took the opportunity to enjoy her smile. It was even turned up towards him, her head tilting to the side as their eyes met. A brief connection, but a warm, welcome one.

Like sunshine piercing a miserably gray sky at last.

“You know, the Teryn has been talking about making me Champion of Ostwick. I received a letter from a cousin in his household warning me. It's ridiculous. I'm not even doing anything specifically for the city! It's not as if I'm going 'oh, I'm the Inquisitor, time to consolidate power back home'.”

“Why would he do that?” Sebastian asked, puzzled. He hadn't spent much time with the Teryn, Ostwick wasn't large or close enough to have more than a formal relationship with. He didn't know much about him on a personal level.

“I think he's afraid if he doesn't do something to appease people they'll decide to make my father Teryn and toss him out on his rear,” she admitted with a small chuckle. “It's just a bit upsetting, it's a title that's meant to be taken seriously. Slapping it on me just for public sentiment is an insult.”

“It isn't as if you aren't deserving of the title, Evie, but I understand.”

Her abrupt tucking of her hand into his elbow was a surprise, and it stalled him. She took a step, and then paused at the tug, glancing up and over at him with a smile. This time, though, the smile was fake. There was a hint of pleading in her eyes.

“What is it, Sebastian?”

Glancing up, he wasn't certain why he was surprised to find the Commander approaching. Well, if she didn't want to face him alone, of course he'd be there for her. Reassuringly, he rested his hand atop hers, giving it a light squeeze. “Just trying to recall if I've packed everything for our trip.”

“I know I'm prepared, despite the stop at Val Firmin. I want to say goodbye to the pups, though.”

He nodded to the stairs that led to the kitchen's back door. “I saw yesterday they were up there being taken care of by the kitchen boy. He's very proud to be taking care of the 'Inquisitor's mabari'.”

Evelyn laughed, and then glanced up at a soft clear of the throat. He could see the mask slip on fully, polite and warm and political. “Commander. Everything ready?”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” he replied with an incline of his head, gaze fixed entirely on Evelyn, ignoring Sebastian. “The scouts going to set the forward camp have departed, and the men that will be traveling with you await your word. Do you have a moment?”

“Unless it's critical, I'm afraid not. If it's something that can be discussed here, however, I'm listening.”

“Ah- no. It'll keep,” he replied. A moment's hesitance, and then his voice firmed up. “Maker watch over you. Please send word immediately should anything go awry. You'll be far from Skyhold, so it's best to take as few chances as possible.”

“I understand, Commander,” she agreed, nodding her head. “Thank you.”

He nodded and turned around, all without acknowledging Sebastian even once. Rude, but it didn't bother him. Considering what he knew now, it made perfect sense. Best to give Cullen space.

“Maker, I'm a coward. I just can't handle it right now, with everything,” Evelyn said, immediately releasing his arm and giving an exasperated sigh. “I'm sorry for using you like that, Sebastian. I know it was beneath me.”

“You bear more burdens than most, Evie. I'm just happy to help,” he said. “I'm just grateful you trust me enough to lean on me.”

“I don't trust you,” she retorted, and then huffed a sigh through her nose. “I just...you're more familiar, that's all. I'll handle it eventually, I promise you. I won't let him speak ill of you, either. It's inappropriate.”

“Cullen's allowed his opinions of me, and they're not completely unwarranted. As long as he doesn't voice them in public, I'm content. Let's not let this ruin your day, it's going to be a long one. You've a new horse to make friends with, aye?”

That banished the frown, much to his relief. It had been so nice to see her in a pleasant mood that even if he was trying to be temperate in the matter of the Commander, he would have been frustrated with the man himself if he'd managed to put a pall over the day. Cullen wasn't a bad man. What sort of man would Sebastian be if he held a grudge against him for being misled in Kirkwall?

A hypocrite, certainly.

Evie seemed to not return the affections. It was a relief he had to acknowledge came from more than simple desire to avoid conflict. He had decided that he wouldn't marry her if she wanted another man, even if Evelyn still would out of duty. But it had been a struggle.

Whenever he thought of taking a wife once the throne of Starkhaven was his, it had always been her he'd thought of. Or at least the memory of her. That memory was changing, however, changing to fit the new edges of her as he discovered her.

It was still her he saw.

Evelyn squinted at the look he was giving her, and then sniffed when he laughed and dropped his head. “I'm going to go kiss some puppies. Pack my bags, please?”

“As my Lady commands her humble servant,” he said, not bothering to hide that it was teasing. She'd always been high handed, it wasn't a surprise. When they were children she'd ordered him about constantly, like a tiny commander on the field of battle. It made him feel useful, and he never had to guess what she needed from him. Maybe some people would find it irritating.

Not him.

“I'm Inquisitor now, you really should call me by the proper title,” she said over her shoulder as she strode away.

“As my lady the Inquisitor demands,” he said to himself absently as she disappeared into the kitchen.

It was strange to realize that some of the loneliness that had driven him to send suit so impulsively was beginning to ease. Having Maximilian here helped, and he could admit now that part of the reason he'd been so eager to bring him here was to see him again, not only for Evelyn. Maybe that was what he had been afraid of losing if she rejected him.

Family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my meta humor, I'm dumb. lol.


	20. Expectations

_Inquisitor Trevelyan,_

_I received the letter from your Ambassador, and have considered both of your concerns. As much as I don't want to subject your father to being gawked at like a sheep with two heads, if I tried to decline on his account we'd spat and I've no patience for that. We'd like to see our children, if that's all right with the Inquisitor. I had word that Comte Clermot and his wife your third cousin Doretta will be attending so if it's insufferable we'll find them and let our husbands ramble on about animal husbandry all night._

_As he isn't the Inquisitor and thus has no reason to be so busy as to avoid us, I expect Prince Vael to come and pay proper respects and spend some time speaking with your father. The Orlesians will note if he does not. Callum should not attend. I know that you are attached to your brothers, but it's not appropriate for a Brother of the Chantry to attend an Orlesian ball. I will send him the information on where he will be staying in Halamshiral so that we may spend time together. The Inquisition does not need to worry about the expense, your father and I will cover it._

_Lamb, I have faith in my daughter and her wisdom, so I'm certain that despite being Inquisitor you're still behaving as an unmarried daughter of House Trevelyan should act. I am very proud of you for that. That being said, your father and I have agreed to waive the requirement for a family ceremony in the Ostwick Chantry despite tradition. If you miss a cycle, please get married immediately because you know how family talks and I'd rather you weren't showing before you get wed._

_As to your question, no, I won't be offended if your 'cousin' chooses Starkhaven over Ostwick, but he'll be expected to at least attend family gatherings and pay his respects. We trust your measure of the man. He cannot be faulted for where he was born and to who, but I pray that Andraste will guide his heart to giving up Tevinter's heathenistic ways._

_We love you very much. With faith, hope, and a steady shield, we know that the Maker will bear you through this trial and bring you home. Never falter, duckling, and never fall. Faithfully following the Maker's will, I am,_

_Your mother,_

_Lady Dierdre Trevelyan_

“Inquisitor! We're ready to move.”

Evelyn pushed up from the map-spread table, trying to keep a straight face as Cassandra peered down at the scout. The men that had been rousted to join them were close by, bearing down on them, but with the glare of the sun here Evelyn couldn't pick out faces. She wasn't certain who led them. Pacing up to the Seeker's side, Evelyn did her best to keep a straight face. Cassandra glanced down at her, obviously flustered.

“I-” Cassandra stopped, and then frowned, face growing more severe. “You should know to whom you speak, or you might address them by the wrong title. I am not the Inquisitor.”

“I'm down here,” Evelyn supplied, lifting a hand and waving. It stung, it would always sting, but she forced that insult into an innocent smile that made a mockery of the insult.

The scout turned red and started stammering, and she couldn't keep the smile from growing. She was about to stop him when a voice spoke up, the column of soldiers pausing at a lifted hand. There was a creak of leather, and their commander swung himself down from his horse, landing heavily just behind the scout. “Please forgive him, Inquisitor. He hasn't been with us long. Then again, nor have I.”

The accent was a familiar Starkhaven brogue, a welcome thing, though the face was not. The scout stepped aside with a mumbled apology and then fled back to the men. Evelyn stepped forward, extending her hand for an arm-clasp before the man could do something like bow. His face wasn't familiar even if his voice was, battle-hardened, tattooed, with a pair of frank blue eyes that settled on her politely, but thankfully not with awe. Those stares made her uncomfortable.

“That explains why I don't recognize you- and why I wasn't recognized, I suppose.”

He clasped her forearm, but released her quicker than she would normally expect. “Knight-Captain Rylen.”

“Knight-Captain?” she asked with surprise, remaining annoyance easing. “I had thought the Templars had left Starkhaven, as they did in Ostwick.”

“As they did most everywhere but Tantervale, aye. Most of Tantervale, at any rate. I myself had no desire to abandon the Chantry, Inquisitor Trevelyan.”

“Commendable,” she said, inclining her head. “Please, come survey the plans. Have your men stand ready. This is going to be messy, but it should go swiftly. We've dealt with the Venatori before.”

“They're thick on the ground here. We took some of those Tevinter bastards out ourselves on the way,” Rylen said. He paused as they approached the table, and she bit back a smile at his hasty bow. “Your Highness.” The shock in his voice had her dryly amused. “Forgive me, I wasn't expecting to see the Prince of Starkhaven out in this sandy wasteland.”

Sebastian glanced up from the hastily-drawn map, head tilting to the side. “I expect most wouldn't. No offense taken at all, I assure you...”

“Knight-Captain Rylen.”

“Knight-Captain Rylen. It does my heart good to know at least one of Starkhaven's Templarate remained faithful. How did you come to join us here? Your name wasn't on my list of men sent to aid the Inquisition, I would have noted a Knight-Captain.”

From in front of the Knight-Captain, Evelyn made a rude face at Sebastian, who smiled placidly at her before turning his attention back to Rylen. Certainly this was his right, but he was on her battlefield, and he shouldn't be acting as if he were to be the Prince here. How very rude of him.

“I was in Kirkwall, lending aid, which is where I met Cullen. He was the one who extended the offer to me.”

Ah. Evelyn curiously watched Sebastian's face, despite her own impatience to be on with this assault.

Sebastian's smile softened, and he inclined his head. “I see. I commend your dedication to choosing deed over word.”

Rylen chuckled, very faintly. “I would rather get a bucket of water to stop a blaze then smite the ashes for heresy. Even though there are larger battles to be fought now, I am glad to hear that the Starkhaven I love so dear has stepped in to aid Kirkwall at last.”

The 'at last' wasn't pointed in the least, only deferential, but it still brought Evelyn some petty amusement. Now was hardly the time, though.

“As are we all,” Evelyn interjected. “I'm afraid I must insist we get on with this battle. Forgive my impatience, but we must secure this area to continue on. I will not have the danger of the Venatori breathing down my neck, but I hate to keep Champion Hawke waiting any longer.”

They turned towards the plans together at her gesture, Cassandra drawing alongside. It was a simple assault, sadly, the keep so fortified and ancient that no subterfuge could be employed. That meant a frontal assault. That meant she would lead.

Although it was funny in the moment, as it always did, being dismissed accidentally rankled with her. Yes she was small. Yes she didn't look like a hardened warrior.

Maybe that was why she pushed too hard, as they assaulted Griffon Wing Keep.

The sun was bad enough, glaring down, blinding eyes that were poor at the best of times. She sweated in misery as they forged ahead, trying her best to pretend she wasn't being robbed of sight. It hurt, but to show that weakness would not inspire trust. She was the Inquisitor.

Weakness was for other people.

The great gate of the keep fell, funneling them into what had no doubt been designed as a death trap. The Wardens built well. But they were not alone, and with the soldiers surging in behind them she kept the lead. Blotches of darkness danced across her vision, the glints of armor and the decorations of the keep sending more glares to rob her of her senses.

The discomfort had become a throbbing pain, but she refused to slow. The Venatori mages must be dealt with swiftly. They struck them down, one by one, climbing higher into the keep. Every staircase seemed longer than the previous one.

At the top of the last, their commander.

Choked by the gated, walled stairwell, a clever chokepoint, she could have held back and allowed some tactical surge. Instead she put her faith in her shield and took the point, giving no one a chance to argue. They would fall in line and follow. She was the Inquisitor, she must lead.

She didn't notice the glyph at the top of the stairs until she had surged upwards and her foot triggered it. The agony of the flaming explosion was quickly assuaged by the cool shield Solas cast over her, and she managed to finish the battle. Her sight, however, had been abused beyond recovery by the blow.

When the commander fell, she could see nothing but blurs and blots of darkness and painful light.

Halfway through raising the flag, the signal of her victory, the pain her her head and eyes became unbearable. Everything hazed, and she sagged, cold despite the sweat pouring down her face. Despite her protests they robbed her of that triumph, and carried her away. Familiar arms carried her yet again through her weakness, this time not a pain she had earned.

This time she had failed.

When Evelyn's senses returned some hours later, she was mortified.

She couldn't believe she'd let it get so bad that she'd made such a fuss in front of everyone. It was difficult to feel anything but agony at the moment, her temples throbbing, eyes aching, and the front of her forehead constricted in a vice of sharp, stabbing pain. But somehow, the embarrassment was stronger.

This was far worse than a wine headache.

There had been healers, hands and water. So much water. People kept rousing her to force it on her, a fact she was coming to resent. A few times hands were on her head and the pain disappeared, but it seemed to keep coming back defiantly. It woke her three times before it eased enough that she could think.

Twenty minutes passed, enough for her to stew in her embarrassment and find her mind again, before someone finally breached her solitude.

The tent opened with a wash of evening-chilled desert air, it relieved some of the heat but none of the pain. Reaching up for the wet cloth covering her eyes so she could see who it was, she was stalled by a snapped “Stop!”

Dorian.

Lips tightening, she relented, dropping her hand to the cot. She tried her throat, and found it less dry than she expected. All the water they'd been forcing on her. “Well, I'm terribly sorry I wanted to see who was wandering into my tent without announcing themselves. For all I know it could be an assassin.”

“And if it were, you'd already be dead. The healer says it's eye strain and a rather nasty heatstroke. Why didn't you say anything?”

“It's something I just have to live with,” she dismissed, ignoring the fact that it had been much worse than usual. “It's just the sun, Dorian. And then the fireball.”

“And the sitting up at night by the fire embroidering and writing, I'd imagine.”

“Don't lecture me, you're no good at it,” she dismissed loftily. She felt him kneel down next to her, and kept her expression aloof and calm as she could.

“I can't believe you're being this stubborn,” Dorian scolded, fingers on her temples.

“It's something I have no choice but to live with,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even and not snappish. “I'll be dealing with it for the rest of my life, there's no way around it. I am a Trevelyan, it's inappropriate to show weakness in front of people who are depending upon me.”

Dorian laughed sarcastically. “You're as bad as your brother.”

“We're twins, that's how it works,” she said automatically, and then paused. “But- in this instance, what do you mean?”

“Oh no, I'm not getting in the middle of that. You'll have to talk to him yourself. Actually, it probably would be good if you did, as long as you don't make it worse. I probably shouldn't trust you two not to feed off of one another.”

“Upstart Vint.”

“Self-important sheep botherer.”

“Oh here we go. Immediately with the sheep jokes. I- Maker...” She trailed off as the sharp, throbbing pain finally began to ease. It faded slowly, and she took a few deep breaths of relief. “Thank you, Dorian. That's so much better.”

She reached up for the damp cloth over her eyes. A sharp, stinging slap on the back of her hand stalled her, and she inhaled sharply. Not that it hurt, but...

“Dorian!”

“Absolutely not! You are going to lie here, and let them rest. It's no wonder they'd gotten so strained. Between the bloody sun and your bloody-mindedness. Be a good girl or I'll tell Josephine what you've been doing to yourself.”

“You will not.”

“Won't I? You're not going to be of much use to Maximilian if you go blind.”

Evelyn stopped, breathing in a frustrated sigh, lifting a hand to smooth the wrinkles from her forehead before they could linger. “That was low.”

“Sometimes the truth is. The pain might be gone, but you still need to _rest_.”

“I have orders to send. I need to update the Commander on-”

“So act like a useless noble for once in your life and dictate them. Stop making your life more difficult than it already is. Now. Who should I send in to write for you?”

“My brother, I suppose,” Evelyn sighed, regretting having to interrupt his evening with her uselessness. “Since apparently I need to speak with him.”

“Good. Is your whole family really like this?”

“Everyone but my sister Violette and Callum, mostly. Liam's worse than me.”

“How do you people solve family disputes? Or wait, let me guess-”

“We don't,” she replied with a hint of amusement. “My father's cousin ran away with his second-cousin's betrothed and married him. Their grandchildren don't speak to each other.”

“Yes, that's about what I expected.”

“Well, you'll have to get used to it. I told Mother you'd probably more interested in Starkhaven than Ostwick and she wrote back that she's fine with it. Even if she's offended it's better to pretend that she isn't. But the society in Starkhaven seemed like it-”

“What exactly are you talking about?”

“When this is all over, of course. I know it's probably a bit wet for you, but really, Starkhaven's lovely. Mother thinks it's a bit stuck-up, but she's like that, and-”

“What gave you the impression that firstly, I had any intention of abandoning my homeland, and secondly, that you had any business going behind my back?” Dorian interrupted her brusquely.

“I-” Evelyn stalled, confused, and then replied in a small voice. “I was trying to help.”

“Yes, because obviously what I need is someone _else_ trying to control my life.”

Confused and silenced, she hesitantly reached up for the cloth across her eyes. No one stopped her, and when she peeked out hesitantly, the flap of the tent was swirling closed with a burst of cool air. A frown was gathering, but she banished it with a sigh.

He'd misunderstood her, that was all. She wasn't trying to control him, she was just preparing things. Of course he wouldn't want to go back to Tevinter, he just thought he didn't have a choice. Dorian would come around in time. That was all. He'd see that she'd been right.

She laid back down, closing her eyes again. Behaving and doing as he asked would be wise right now, she could humble herself to realize that. It was true, she wouldn't be much use if she didn't rest her eyes.

Despite her self-affirmation, guilt and worry lurked in the back of her head, the panic she always tried to push down when someone was angry with her. It warred with her sense of rightness, chipped away at it piece by piece. By the time someone entered her tent again, she was stewing in the rubble of her own pride, misery twisting through her guts like a constricting serpent.

Unlikeable Evelyn, yet again.

As Dorian stormed up to the fire, Sebastian glanced away from Max's sketching with a curious expression. He looked furious. Not that the man didn't have a temper, but he'd thought he'd just gone to look in on Evelyn.

“Is Evie all right?” he asked, puzzled.

“All right? I suppose that's one way of putting it,” Dorian fumed, shifting his attention to Max. “You need to do something about that sister of yours.”

Max laughed silently, lifting charcoal-smudged hands. “What has she done now? You'll have to excuse her if she was techy, Evelyn hates being ill.”

“Were you aware she was going behind my back, apparently with her mother, to try and dictate the rest of my life? Apparently they've decided I won't be going home. How can someone be so dense as to think that is something I would even remotely find acceptable?! It's like she hasn't listened to a word I've said.”

_Oh, Evie._

Yes, that sounded exactly like her, didn't it? And with Dierdre? She'd truly stepped in it now.

“Just ignore her. It's easiest if you just let her do as she likes,” Max signed, also unsurprisingly missing the point entirely. They really were too much alike at times. “She means well. You just have to give her some space to stew a bit and then explain things to her.”

“And why, exactly, should I be expected to do that? A moment's forethought would have made it clear that it was a terrible, offensive idea. Please do explain to me why her causing me offense means I should have to pander to her?”

“It's just Evie being Evie,” Max dismissed with a laugh, as Sebastian knew he would.

All right. It was probably time to step in. If this got any worse, Evelyn would do as she had when they were children- a horrible habit she apparently hadn't grown out of- and she'd alienate the people she was trying to befriend.

“Max, Evie was _wrong_ to do that,” Sebastian interrupted mildly, trying to cut off Dorian's bristling before his brother made it worse. “Aye, you and I let her run all over us, but that's our choice. Certainly she knows she can't treat everyone like that without them being offended.”

“If people are offended it's because they want to be. Really, Dorian, don't take her seriously.”

“Dorian is- and not to speak over you, I'm sorry-” Dorian waved a hand dismissively, irritably, and Sebastian continued. “Dorian is perfectly right to be offended, because that was offensive.”

“She can just be a bit of a know-it-all, that's all,” Max signed with a fond smile.

“Yes, and I wonder how that happened,” Dorian said irritably, and then sighed, lifting both hands. “Listen. I like Evelyn perfectly well, but she has crossed a line. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised _you're_ excusing her, Max.”

It wasn't a surprise that Max didn't look in the least bit offended, but he did raise an eyebrow, smile intact. “What's that mean?”

“When are you going to tell her?”

The smile faded slightly. “It's not important. She doesn't need to know these sorts of things. It'll just hurt her, and she can't fix it.”

“But she could _stop_ it.”

Max's smile finally disappeared, and he shook his head. “This time. I've had to grow a thick skin. She hasn't.”

Dorian crossed his arms, voice taking on a tart note. “And she never will, if you protect her from everything. Including her own bad behavior, it seems.”

“Brother?” Sebastian interjected quietly.

Max sighed irritably, waving in dismissal. For a few seconds he ignored them, but Sebastian refused to relent, crossing his arms. When Dorian sat down next to Sebastian, Max rolled his eyes and finally lifted his hands again. “People talk about me. They always have, they always will. If I let every single instance of people calling me names or mocking me for being Deaf get to me, I'd never stop being miserable. Evie doesn't get that. She takes it all incredibly personally.”

“So you're trying to protect her from protecting you,” Sebastian said, not in the least bit surprised. “Well, that sounds like you two.”

“I can handle it, all right? It's just a disrespectful nickname people have been tossing around. No, I'm not going to repeat it, because it's not worth any of our time. They never are.”

“All right, so you're not going to tell Evelyn. Can't you at least go to Josephine? This is her job, Maximilian, and some people would consider it disrespectful to the Inquisitor for this sort of thing to go on,” Dorian pointed out, sounding calmer.

“She's a very busy woman.”

“That's not a good excuse, brother. I agree with Dorian,” Sebastian said, ignoring his own impulse, which would be to go straight to Evelyn as well. He couldn't speak for another man, however. “At least speak to the Ambassador. If you won't do it for yourself, do it for Evie. She _will_ find out eventually.”

When Max just rudely signed his defeat, Sebastian smiled and nodded, relaxing. Well, that was one half of it solved, then. It wasn't his place to lecture Evelyn, but he now realize that he was as happy to fall into old patterns with her as her family was. Patterns that might not be entirely wise.

Unfortunately, Evelyn had a habit of catastrophizing every bit of criticism, which led to things like Max trying to insulate her from it.

It didn't help that their mother was one of the most critical people he had ever met.

“I'm going to go look in on my betrothed. If you'll both excuse me?”

“Certainly, brother. Dorian, I understand it might be difficult to keep me company without a translator, but I was actually hoping you might sit for me? I would really love to draw your face.”

“Completely shameless,” Dorian accused, and then laughed at Max's quick grin. “Then again, so am I! Sketch away.”

Why Maximilian hadn't brought his guard Nadine, Sebastian wasn't sure, but it likely wasn't his place to pry. He would imagine being shackled to someone else to speak would be frustrating. And yet, if he truly didn't care how people reacted, why wouldn't he just speak? Sebastian was well-aware he knew how. It wasn't a lack of ability.

Sebastian returned nods as he crossed the courtyard, heading for Evelyn's tent. This place would be made livable soon for the soldiers, but for now it was probably best to have her somewhere familiar if she wasn't feeling well. There was no way to knock, but at least he could announce himself.

“Evelyn, it's-”

“What do you want?”

Well, it wasn't a dismissal. Pushing in, his amused annoyance with her turned to concern. She was lying with a cloth over her eyes, skin paler than usual. “Should I call someone?”

“It's only heatstroke,” she retorted sharply, and then let out a small sigh. “I am _trying_ to behave. I don't want anyone to think I'm a dainty little idiot who faints in the sun and needs someone to carry her a bloody parasol around.”

“The weather can fell armies, Evelyn,” he replied mildly, approaching her side. “Have your eyes been getting worse?”

“Over the years, slowly. It's just the sun, it blinded me all day. And then that bloody Venatori that exploded me made it worse. Is Dorian still in a fit of pique?”

“Fit of pique?” He kept his voice steadily neutral, kneeling down at her side. When she removed the cloth from her eyes and extended it over, he tried not to smile. “I do believe that you have manners, Evelyn. Probably better than mine.”

“I don't have to be kind to you,” she snapped. Instantly he saw the small moue of regret. “I-”

He didn't fill the silence, letting it extend. She knew when she'd gone too far, she always did. It didn't mean she'd stop herself, but the altercation on the stairs where she'd apologized quickly gave him hope.

Sebastian had to keep reminding himself that it was neither his job to coddle her, or censure her.

“That was unworthy of me. Would you please wet this for me? I'm supposed to keep it damp.”

“Of course, Evelyn,” he agreed, taking the cloth in hand and rising to go wet it at the pitcher on her table. A pile of letters waiting. Maybe she'd let him read them for her. He could see one in Dierdre's hand open on top of the pile. Politeness had him avoiding looking at it, but it was relevant to the situation at hand. “Is your mother well?”

She let out an exasperated huff, long and drawn-out. Again, he forced himself not to fill the silence, wringing out the cloth and crossing back. Her hands were clutched together at her waist, so he risked her temper and folded the cloth carefully, draping it back over her face. She flinched, but didn't say anything.

“She is-” Evelyn cut off, and silence reigned again. He could see something in the line of her jaw, a slight tightening and a heavy swallow. “She is mother. I barely had time to read it this morning before the Knight-Captain arrived. You can read it if you like, but it's not terribly flattering.”

“Not flattering, Evie?”

“Just read it.”

Well, it was obvious she wasn't willing to talk about it. Rising to his feet, he crossed to the table and picked up the letter, scanning it swiftly. It was...extremely Lady Dierdre. More blunt than the one he'd gotten from her, but she was writing to her daughter after all.

The part about the wedding he felt a bit awkward about reading, but he was more concerned for her than anything.

“It must be frustrating to have her treat you like this, no matter how much you love her,” he remarked mildly, setting the letter aside with a soft rustle.

“I don't know what you mean,” Evelyn predictably retorted.

“No?” he asked quietly.

Seconds passed by, and she let out a strangled noise of frustration. Her hands lifted in the air, throttling, and he couldn't bite back the smile. “I'm the _Inquisitor_. Alan has a bloody grandchild. Angus is a Knight-Lieutenant, soon to be a Knight-Captain, for blessed Andraste's sake! Do you know how _exhausting_ it has been trying to keep her from shipping Max off to misery in the Chantry?”

“It sounds very tiring,” he agreed, scanning the letter again. “It must be difficult having everything dictated to you without a thought for what you might want or need for yourself as a grown woman.”

“Aye,” Evelyn agreed in a sigh, hands dropping heavily. “But she loves me and means well, and I must remember that.”

“You can remember it and still not let her dictate your life, Evie.”

“It's easier just to let her do as she will and work around it,” Evelyn said in mimicry of her twin brother. Amusing, but still a problem.

“Well, you are stuck forever being Lady Dierdre's daughter, for good or for ill,” he said carefully, though her faint sardonic smile reassured him. “But does that mean you have to be Lady Dierdre?”

Evelyn went very still. He wouldn't let himself grow nervous, uncertain. This was the gentlest way he could find to approach it. There was a great and abiding kindness in Evelyn that he remembered from their youth, a sweet eagerness to give and help. He still saw it quite often in her, but unfortunately it would become twisted at times.

It would get caught up in her presumption that she was always right.

Like her mother.

“You were trying to help. You thought you knew better. You were wrong.”

“I-” The anger he wasn't afraid of, for he'd already decided that if it must have an outlet, he would be the one to bear it. Luckily, it died almost immediately and when she spoke, it was with a deep self-recrimination that was no better. “I suppose I shouldn't have even tried. I should know better than to presume anyone who would actually come to know me would like me.”

“He likes you. It's your actions he doesn't care for. Mistakes can be apologized for.”

“I have done nothing wrong, only made the incorrect assumption that someone else was sincere,” she dismissed, with a suddenly icy tone.

“True, Dorian's flippancy does make it likely he hasn't been as sincere in his affection as you, but you also latched onto him very quickly, Evelyn. It's a bit much for most people. Family doesn't mean the same thing to others that it does to you. But irregardless of that, it does not mean he dislikes you. You were still wrong. I realize you're hurt right now, but-”

“Don't preach to me, Sebastian,” she replied quietly, once again flipping emotions, from frigidity to quiet weariness. “You needn't rub it in my face. I know he doesn't like me. I know no one does. Bossy, snobbish, rude, cold, unlikeable Evelyn. It's nothing I haven't heard before.”

Sighing, he sat down next to her cot. When he reached out and took her hand, she resisted with a scowl, jerking it out of his grip. “Stop it, I hate you.”

“Who told you those things? You?”

“Maybe it was you,” she retorted sharply.

“I wouldn't say that about you, Evie. Because it's not true.”

“Not that you remember,” she said, lips tightening. It was a strange statement, and before he had time to absorb it she was moving on dismissively. “It doesn't matter. Because it is true. Do you know how difficult it is to go through life knowing you're just an unpleasant person?”

“I'll give you the bossy, Evie,” he allowed, because he didn't feel like lying to her. She scoffed. “Snobbish? You're a woman who knows the worth of her title, family, and the dignity that comes with it. I haven't seen you screaming or throwing a fit, or demanding more luxuries. You know what's appropriate, and how others will perceive you, but that doesn't make you snobbish. I've yet to see you look down on someone due to where they came from. You look at the person, not their circumstances. Look at Dorian.”

“Still-”

“You're not rude. I daresay Lady Dierdre wouldn't abide raising a rude daughter.”

“I'm rude to you.”

“I let you be, and I'm glad you feel safe enough with me to let out some of the pressure you're under.”

Her lips drew into a line. “How unflattering to you.”

“Perhaps,” he agreed with a faint smile. This time she let him take her hand, though her lips pursed tightly into a little scowl. It wasn't in the least bit intimidating. “Cold, well, aye. You have a particular way from hiding away from being hurt or vulnerable. I'd imagine it's a frightening thing.”

“So I'm a coward.”

He was going to pay for saying it, but Sebastian found he couldn't help himself. “You're defending a very soft heart that feels every small hurt very strongly. I don't think it's cowardice, I think perhaps you've just been sheltered, Evie. You have five brothers that try to shield you from the whole world, and a father who would gladly give it to you. And a mother who would defend to the death anything you wanted- as long as it didn't contradict what she wants for you.”

By now he had acknowledged his jealousy over that, and the twinge of it that came was accepted and set aside.

This wasn't about him.

Unsurprisingly she instantly tried to free her hand, every muscle tightening defensively, but for some reason this time he held on through her token resistance. For some reason he couldn't help but want to hold her through this. It was a strange conversation, and he couldn't stop himself now.

He was saying things he didn't even realize he'd felt.

“I despise that I hurt you. I despise that the whole of Thedas needs you, and that you will be hurt by it. You're the strongest woman I know, to have been disappointed again and again and yet to keep that softness. I understand why you carry your shield. I only wish you wouldn't put it between us. Maybe I let you be cruel to me because at least then you're letting it down a little.”

“You make me sound so weak,” she denied quietly, voice catching.

“Evie...no. No I don't.”

“There is nothing gentle about Dierdre Trevelyan.”

Unbidden, the memory of her flushed and hesitant, leaning towards others but afraid to approach came to mind. The memory made him smile. “There is about her daughter, and I think she's a fine and admirable woman just as she is. If the world thinks a man or woman cannot be gentle and strong, then it is all of Thedas who is wrong. It is not a weakness or a failure. What is a weakness, though, is refusing to admit fault.”

Her nose wrinkled, lips twisting to the side. The face was so mulishly Evelyn that he finally succumbed to a brief laugh, and was relieved when her face relaxed into a smile of her own. At first it was wry, and then it softened sadly.

“Sometimes I just- I'm so buried under everything, Sebastian. Why would anyone like me?”

“Shall I repeat all the things I've only just said?”

She huffed, pulling her hand free at last. He could tell from the tension and returned mock-loftiness that he knew was a facade now. Despite it, he was relieved. He'd said things he hadn't realized he needed to, and now he could try to puzzle out why he felt them all. Prayer always helped, but he needed to sleep tonight.

Tomorrow would be a struggle.

“I'll apologize to Dorian. I was wrong,” she sighed tiredly. “I have orders to send and a missive for Cullen about the assault to send.”

“How much of it can be delegated?”

Her scowl before she banished it was enough of an answer.

“Will you dictate to me, virago?”

The gentle tease actually made her smile before she banished it, lips pursing together. “If you must meddle. Sebastian?”

“Yes, Evie?”

There was a crack in her voice, a hint of vulnerability. “Do you think the Maker made a mistake in choosing me?”

“Evie, I-” A simple denial died on his tongue, and something else replaced it. “I have never seen evidence that the Maker is falliable, and I have yet to. He led me back to you, after all.”

In the silence that followed the statement, he turned to pick up the pile of unread letters, setting the one from her mother aside. He heard her exhale, slowly, as if it were a breath she'd been holding for an age. When he glanced back over his shoulder at her, there was a hint of a smile on the edge of her lips.

“I'm still not giving you a better room, Sebastian. Josephine can fret all she likes.”

He laughed.


	21. Second Chances

Staring at the body of the Warden, Evelyn ignored the chaos that surrounded her.

Everyone was safe, so all other concerns could wait. Her hand flexed at her side, still feeling the thrum of discomfort in her palm, in the bones of her hand as if they vibrated still. Twice now they had attempted to steal the anchor from her, and twice it had failed, but every time it seemed to make it worse. The fear that she kept firmly shoved to the back of her mind twisted through it now like spreading rot.

Was it killing her?

“Inquisitor.”

Silently she shifted her shield to remove her metal-plated gauntlet, silently extending her hand to the side. Solas took it in a now-familiar grip, palm-up, her fingers relaxed. It was the only part of her in any state of relaxation at the moment.

“The...attack, I suppose I should call it, was agonizing, and it hurts more than usual right now, but considering I'm still enduring a rather nasty headache it remains a secondary pain.”

“If the discomfort continues beyond the usual, please inform me at once. The Anchor seems unchanged.”

“This time,” she said, trying to keep her voice from growing too grim. Now was not the time for her self-indulgent brooding. That was not what was needed from her now. “Thank you, Solas, for everything that you do. I think it's obvious how uncomfortable I am with magic, but fighting at your side has been an education.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he replied, having the grace to not sound too surprised.

“And thank you, for keeping your opinions on blood magic private around Hawke,” she said mildly.

He smiled, faintly and without an ounce of humor. “I thought it was neither the time nor the audience to begin a debate.”

“You?” she asked, mock-surprised.

“I wonder that you choose now, of all times, to introduce levity,” Solas replied, with the barest ghost of a smile. She returned it in a tense grimace.

“The audience is a bit lacking in the humor department,” Evelyn admitted, still staring at the corpses. “Sometimes we laugh to keep from weeping, I suppose. They've seen me show weakness enough lately. Could you tell Captain Rylen I need him?”

“Of course. Are we returning to Skyhold?”

“I hate to,” she admitted with a frustrated sigh through her nose. “With how close we are. But to not return and make preparations is dooming us all to death. Unfortunately that means that in our absence, more Wardens will die.”

“And if you do not depart now, they will all die.”

Solas' words lingered as he left her. A presence still remained on the back of her neck, and she knew which of her shadows it was. Max would have shifted so that he could see what they were talking about. Rather than snap, which her tired poor mood and her headache told her to, she gestured at the pile of corpses.

“Hawke would like to speak to you before they leave to scout Adamant,” Sebastian said quietly.

“We are all shaped by our experiences, I cannot fault her for her lack of sympathy for the Wardens. I should not have snapped at her. If an apology is required-”

“I believe she wants to apologize, Evie. You need to get out of the sun.” The hand on her elbow was resisted, faint though the contact was. Sebastian made no effort to force her, but he didn't drop his grip. “You aren't the only one with a temper.”

His words from in the tent had struck deep, and she considered them anew now. Yes, she had been too short with Hawke, but she found the dismissal of the Wardens and their plight and conflict irksome. It wasn't that she shared Solas' opinion on blood magic, but discounting the suffering of the Wardens because they had turned to it in desperation had triggered something within her.

Something uneasy was growing, and she wasn't certain what it was yet.

“Am I too accustomed to people bowing to my will? Am I too uncompromising, too assured of my own self-righteousness?”

“May I ask the context, Evie?”

Irritated with his side-stepping, she waved a hand through the air, pulling free from his grip. Turning away from the pile of corpses at last, she lifted her chin and stared into his eyes. They were genuinely puzzled, which should not have irritated her as much as it did.

“I don't know, Sebastian. I'm afraid a muddled maze has begun in my mind, and I've only just started working through it. Would you consider yourself what they call a natural leader?”

Sebastian laughed, quick and surprised. “Me? In some ways, I suppose, in others- no. Navigating politics has been a trial. A trial the Maker set before me to test me and to help me grow, but a trial nonetheless. It does not come easily or naturally to me. In being decisive in a moment of stress? Also no, I fear. But in other ways? Aye. I have come to realize that being a Prince, or a leader, has many parts.” He began walking away, and knowing she was being manipulated into following, she did so with ill grace.

There had already been a small awning set up for her, Rylen waiting there, and she tried not to scowl. It would make the headache worse. Maker, this place was horrible. She'd never thought she'd grow to hate the sun.

“In compromise? In consideration? In patience, in trusting in those around me and in the Maker's will? In understanding and forgiveness? Aye. Though they may be learned and not natural, I find that I rarely am led astray in those spheres by my instincts.”

“I am poor at those things,” she admitted, too tired to lie.

“I know,” Sebastian said mildly, and smiled at the sidelong stare she gave him. “And yet you excel at what I find difficult, Evie.”

“I know what you're getting at, and I will neither indulge it nor respond to it,” she said cooly, approaching Rylen with Sebastian's chuckle following her down the crumbled stairs. As much as she hated to admit it, the coolness of the shade washing over her was an instant relief, as was the water waiting. She poured herself a mug before Sebastian could do it.

“Inquisitor, Your Highness,” Rylen greeted.

“Do we have the forces here to continue fighting back the Venatori and clearing out the last of the bandit encampments?” she asked simply, rather than skirting around the issue. “I would hate to leave Griffon Wing Keep to struggle in our absence. The Approach must be held while we prepare to siege Adamant.”

“Harding's people have done what they can to map what remains, which has been made easier by your advance, Inquisitor. I think unless there's any surprises bigger than a bloody high dragon-”

“Maker, I pray you ignore his words,” she muttered superstitiously, and endured the faint laughter.

“Aye, perhaps ill said, but- she's not bothering us, and we're in no hurry to bother her. We haven't been able to convince that bloody Orlesian researcher to move on, unfortunately. He's been thoroughly cautioned to just leave her alone.”

“If he won't listen, he can suffer the consequences. We're not here to babysit a dragon-obsessed fool with his nose in a book and his head in the clouds.”

“I believe we will be able to hold the area, aye. Not that I'll be complaining if you clear out any more of the White Claw on your way out. The supply line is difficult enough out here without them.”

“We'll leave at nightfall, it'll make them easier to spot,” Evelyn agreed. “Normally not something I would consider tactically wise, but here...”

“Night watch has become exceptionally sought-after as an appointment,” Rylen said, and then nodded. “Never fear, Inquisitor. We've got your back.”

“Then my faith will remain with you. Thank you, Knight-Captain.”

“Maker watch over you, Inquisitor. Your Highness.”

“Knight-Captain,” Sebastian said quietly.

With a quick nod of his head, Rylen stepped back and turned for his men, who were nearly finished digging graves. She'd insisted.

It felt ghoulish not to bury the Wardens, no matter their crimes.

“Knight-Captain!” she called, and he turned back towards her curiously. “Just. Do have someone keep an eye on Professor Frederic every now and again. He's a fool, but- just every few days, is all.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

Breathing out a sigh, she forced herself to drink the water. Better to do it herself before someone started fussing at her. Setting down the mug, she reached up and removed her helm, feeling the sweat drenching her scalp, trickling down the back of her neck. Maker, this awful place.

Glancing up from the makeshift, scribbled map they'd been working on, she stared out at the men working in the distance, blurs of motion in her sun-drenched vision. She could pick out Blackwall among them, digging despite the battle they'd just seen. It made her heart ache.

“How betrayed he must feel.”

“Evie?”

“Blackwall,” she said, glancing up and sidelong at Sebastian as he poured himself water. “To know that your comrades have failed so thoroughly, succumbing to fear and lies. To know that they have failed at their sacred duty. I cannot imagine the heartbreak.”

“He will aid us in setting it right.”

“Yes. Still, I should say something to him. That's _my_ duty. Have you seen my brother?”

“Aye, with Vivienne helping Cassandra. Her helm was badly dented. She'll be fine,” Sebastian assured her.

Evelyn knew she'd be scolded, but hope would not be silenced so easily. “Helping Cassandra?”

“No, Evelyn,” Sebastian predictably replied, amused and stern at the same time. The usage of her full name did very little to deter her.

“I just want him to be happy, what is wrong with that?” she inquired testily, lifting her water and draining it.

“Have you learned nothing from Dorian, I wonder?” Sebastian asked, reaching for the pitcher. With ill grace, she let him refill her mug, lifting her chin. He wouldn't get a smile out of her. Things with Dorian had been mended, and if things weren't precisely as they had been, she only had herself to blame.

She'd been ignoring the truth for her own sentimentality.

But Max was different, they were two entirely different situations.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“You're welcome, Evie.”

Despite his disapproval, she forged onward. “It's a good match. You know he wouldn't argue with me. A good marriage would get him free of mother's machinations, and he'd be such a good father, and-”

“Evelyn.”

“What?” she asked, already mentally preparing herself for some bloody preaching. Something about trusting the Maker's will, or-

“Mind your own blasted business.”

By the time her mind returned to functionality and she turned to give Sebastian an aghast look, he had left the awning and was wandering off to where the Iron Bull was cleaning his massive blade. She stared at his back, bristling and utterly affronted. He didn't even look in her direction.

How dare he?

Giving a faint sniff, she shook her head and turned back to the map. Whatever sort of odd mood he'd found himself in, she wasn't required to indulge it. Men.

Each step outside of the awning evened her mood, growing closer to the graves. She let the somber aura seep into her, clutching the mug to her chest. Returning to the sun was difficult, but she had a duty here, to oversee the interring of the bodies. Covered in streaks of blood, dirt, and sweat that smeared both across his brow, Blackwall gazed up at her. She extended a hand down to him, and he clasped her forearm, levering himself out of the grave, the edges collapsing inward in a trickle of sand under his boot.

“Have to dig deep in the desert. Doubt they'll stay buried forever, though. Too many scavengers.” He turned and stood at her side, crossing his arms.

“I'm sorry. I wish we had a cart to transport them somewhere more appropriate,” she said quietly.

Blackwall gave a gruff noise of dismissal. “Done more than you had to- more than most would. Thank you, my Lady.”

“I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. I'm so sorry, Blackwall.”

“It's these poor sods who deserve your pity, Inquisitor, not I,” he retorted, face unreadable as she stared up at it.

Evelyn smiled faintly. “Not pity. Well, for them, perhaps it is a bit,” she acknowledged, rather than lie to him. “But more than that, a great and abiding regret. 'At all costs' is a terrible burden of duty to carry. I regret that they thought this was what they thought must be paid to stop the Blight. We will save every single Warden that we can.”

“They'll be needed. Sooner or later, every single one will be needed.”

A shadow cast over Evelyn from behind announced a presence before the awkward clearing of her throat. Blackwall glanced past her, and then turned his attention with a nod. “I best go start seeing to the bodies.”

“Thank you,” she responded.

The look he cast past her was rather narrow and tense, but he didn't say anything further as he trudged off. Why Evelyn had thought that Hawke would wait for her, she wasn't certain. Nothing in her interactions with the woman indicated that Hawke was blessed with an overabundance of patience.

There was a heavy sigh, and she could see fidgeting out of the corner of her vision. Evelyn supposed it would have been gracious to break the silence. She did not, gazing across the open graves and sipping at her water. It hadn't even been much of an argument, all told.

“I shouldn't have picked a fight like that in front of your people. I'm sorry,” Hawke finally said, crackling voice abnormally subdued.

Well, that was easier than anticipated. “Apology accepted. I understand that we all have strong feelings that may come to the surface unexpectedly in times of stress.”

“Yeah. I- I _really_ hate blood magic,” Hawke acknowledged, and then cleared her throat. She ran a hand through her short black hair, tousling it, eyes fixed ahead when Evelyn glanced more fully at her. “I've got history there. It got twisted up, so. I'm sorry.”

“I already accepted your apology, Hawke,” Evelyn pointed out, keeping her voice mild. “I apologize as well. I wasn't expecting to feel such a vehement need to defend them.”

“I tend to get- uh, bickery with people who intimidate me. It's one of those, what do you call it. Defense mechanisms. I've been told I can be kinda aggressive. So, you know. Sorry.” Hawke grinned self-deprecatingly, shoulders lifting with a creak of armor.

“Well, I have to say that I've accepted your apology _three_ times now, Hawke, and-” Evelyn was caught between amusement and disbelief, staring up at the much taller woman- the Champion of Kirkwall, practically a myth now. “Are you saying I intimidate you?”

“You kidding?” Hawke asked, briefly sputtering. “I mean, yeah. I am a mess- ask Fenris some time, he's got stories about- hell, ask Sebastian. Andraste's flaming knickers, I'm a one woman disaster. I'm...very much not poised or ladylike, or _anything_ like what my mother wanted me to be.” The slight catch on those words roused a quiet sympathy. Hawke's voice grew quieter as the first of the bodies was brought to the waiting sands. “Kirkwall was one thing. It's a mess, just like me. We belonged together, you know? But I don't think I could manage what you're doing here. I'd bollocks it up.”

“I don't know about that. You seem like a woman who would rise to the occasion. I'm sure history will clearly show that I've made a mess of plenty of things myself,” Evelyn said, something in the words feeling like a portent of dread. The rest of the uneasy thought escaped in a whisper. “If it looks kindly upon me at all.”

“We don't know,” Hawke said with a shrug and a grimacing attempt at a smile. “We've got no way to know. We just do what we have to do so that they don't all die, Inquisitor.”

“Evelyn, please.”

“Right, sorry,” Hawke said with a snort. “I can't go demanding you don't call me Champion and then title you all over, even if you're scary.”

“Scary?!” Evelyn retorted, quickly quieting her voice, embarrassed to be shouting in such an inappropriate moment. “I beg your pardon.”

“Scary's good! You need it, Sebastian's not nearly scary enough for a Prince, I keep telling him that. Kept telling him that before. He would just laugh and tell me that's why he kept trying to convince me to come along and do the scaring. But it's good. He has you. Can you imagine, me? In Starkhaven?” Hawke snorted and crossed her arms across her chest. “Some days I felt too dirty for Hightown, let alone _that_ place.”

A stony chill overtaking her, Evelyn stared blindly as the Wardens were laid to rest, her hands folding together at her waist. Pressing a thumb into the Anchor, she felt the buzzing in her bones. It wasn't enough to quell the unsteadiness in her stomach.

One by one, bodies were laid to rest.

“I wasn't aware that you joining him in Starkhaven had been an option,” Evelyn said, keeping her voice careful and soft.

“Oh. No, not really. I mean, it ever wasn't for me,” Hawke said contemplatively, with a faint smile. “I never even really considered it seriously. Sometimes it was fun to talk about when everything was going to the Void, though.”

“It would have been a strong alliance. A good match,” Evelyn replied, choosing her words slowly.

“That's what he said! See, you guys think alike. Me, no. If I ever plant my feet again it's going to be in Kirkwall, and nowhere else. There's no where else in Thedas that I'd want to inflict myself on.” Hawke took a half step back. “I'm gonna go find Stroud and look over those maps. We'll be at Skyhold probably only a day or two behind you. Scouting shouldn't take too long unless we don't find them at Adamant.”

“Thank you, Hawke,” Evelyn replied smoothly, around the hard, cold lump in her stomach.

“Hey, I'm just happy to play my part in this whole mess, Evelyn. Like Varric keeps telling me, we can't sit on our asses when we were partially responsible for all this, witting or not. History might decide I'm an asshole at the end of all of this, but it won't be because I didn't do my best to clean up shit.”

Listening to the fading sound of crunching footsteps quickly overtaken by the noise of people preparing for various journeys, Evelyn stood and watched the rest of the bodies given to the sands. Her quiet prayer in the back of her mind for the misled Wardens was rote, but it helped cover the noise of her mind. Petty, small, clamoring thoughts wouldn't be silenced entirely, however. When she was left alone with the covered graves, sweat trickling down her throbbing temples in the sun, they came back in full force.

Had he lied to her about why he had left Kirkwall when they needed him? Had it been a broken heart? Irregardless of if he had lied to her or no, there was one incontrovertible truth now she had no choice but to face.

Evelyn had been his second choice after all.

They met the supply train on the Imperial Highway outside of Val Firmin, where Sebastian was surprised to find Evelyn unwilling to stop on the way back.

He'd seen no indication on their Lady Montilyet-requested visit that she found the Marquis' company unpalatable, but they had pushed beyond without pause. True, it was only midday, but he'd never known Evie to miss an opportunity for a bath and proper bed in their travels. He'd ask her, if only she was speaking to him.

Which she was not.

The supply train turned out to be Antivan supplies, sadly. He'd been hoping that it might be Lady Cullough's promised tithe and some purchased sundries from Starkhaven. It'd been a struggle to get it together in the first place. Hopefully already to Skyhold, instead of lost somewhere on the road.

Turning his easygoing mare back around, he urged the road-weary beast back to the rest of the Inquisitor's vanguard. Vivienne was waiting for him with a curious look, and he shook his head apologetically to her as his mare came abreast of her animal. “This is round about when I'd expect to see them, but perhaps the roads are better than we'd expected. Hopefully the things you requested will await us in Skyhold, Madame.”

“I do hope so, my dear. It would be a shame for those tomes to become lost once again,” Vivienne replied with a smile, inclining her head.

“Well, it isn't as if anyone in Starkhaven's using them,” Sebastian acknowledged with a laugh. “I'd rather they be in proper hands. Confiscating them in the name of the crown might have caused some displeasure among the nobility who acquired them.”

“I can't imagine they'd want anyone believing they'd pilfered the smoldering wreckage of the Circle tower?” Vivienne inquired with a faint smile, her palfrey keeping pace with his mare.

“An insult to suggest it, but goods bought fairly in ignorance are fair game,” Sebastian said with a faint chuckle, tilting his head at Vivienne's knowing look. “Still, passing along coin and the thanks of the Inquisition will soothe any tempers at their loss, and get them out of inappropriate hands. Really, you're doing _me_ the favor, Madame.”

“And delighted to do so.”

“I'm afraid sometimes the thought of coin or a rarity to incite the jealousy of ones peers can overwhelm even the most pious of hearts,” Sebastian said soberly, trying not to feel too irritated with the idea. He knew it was wise to handle things like this, but it rankled that it was necessary to bribe others to do the right thing.

Still, aid had been more grudging than anticipated.

Worrying.

It occupied him away from his concerns about Evie's taciturn avoidance of him until evening, his mind wracking over the situation made so much more difficult by distance. It was a consequence he had accepted when he had chosen this path, but still concerning. Liam had written nothing about unrest. Still, he should speak to Leliana when they returned- he wasn't foolish enough to think she didn't have a thumb on the pulse of his city.

Having not paused at Val Firmin, they stopped an hour past nightfall at a place that looked to be a frequent encampment, large enough for both them and the supply train.

Icily dismissed from Evelyn's company after setting up camp, Sebastian kept to himself. He'd promised himself he'd been patient, but the abrupt about-face was frustrating, especially since he'd thought they were beginning to get along. Was she really so upset that he'd told her to mind her own business?

No, it couldn't be that. Surely Evelyn couldn't be that unreasonable. If that was her excuse, he knew there must be something else troubling her that had made him a target. As much as he told himself this was what she needed from him, to be a safe space to let herself feel, it did prickle at the pride a bit to have been shooed away like an Orlesian's elven servant.

Especially so publicly.

Still, the Maker called him to humility, and if that meant this, then he would accept it as graciously as he could.

So, he settled down outside his tent to oil his bow, a soothing, easy exercise that he didn't need much light for. Fletching he tended to leave to other people these days, though there was no excuse for not checking his arrows. He'd have to do that next.

His dim light from the distant fire was eclipsed, and Sebastian glanced upwards. A bowl was shoved down at him, and setting aside his unstrung bow atop his pack, he accepted it in both hands. “Thank you, Varric.”

Much to his surprise, Varric settled down next to him with a grunt, resting his bowl on his knee. “Shit, that used to be easier.”

“Every time I hear a joint crack I say a prayer,” Sebastian joked, and lifted his head to scan the encampment, lit by various fires and filled with the murmur of conversation. “Some of these soldiers have been fighting longer than I've been alive, I likely shouldn't complain in earshot.”

Varric gave a small 'hmh', tearing off a piece of bread. "You know, I really didn't think you were the kind of man to let himself be kicked over and over again."

Oh, of course that was what Varric was here for. Well, it wasn't as if Evelyn had been in the least bit subtle about her annoyance. Or private.

"I can see how it would look that way. Thank you for your concern."

Varric scoffed. "I...wouldn't call it concern. It really doesn't bother you?"

"Every now and again she manages to find a place in the armor to prick at. She has a way with that."

"Yeah...” Varric said slowly, glancing over his shoulder. "I know you've known her longer, but, well, no offense, doesn't seem like she's interested in playing nice. Yeah, before I was just trying to get you to go away, but- if you're expecting her to ease up on you, I don't know if it's going to be happening."

"I'm not going to claim it has nothing to do with me, Varric, but it's truly not all about me. Evie has a particular way of...bottling things up. It has to come out somehow." If only he could believe it was the case this time. Usually when she lashed out she'd realize she'd been wrong and apologize. This felt more personal.

Surely she couldn't be _this_ upset about him telling her not to interfere with her brother's love life.

"So what, you're taking one for the team?" Varric asked, dubiously.

Quelling his own doubts in reassuring Varric, Sebastian chose his words with care, and confidence that slowly became more than just bravado. "I trust that the Maker put this path before her for a reason, Varric, just as he brought her to me when I needed her. If I can ease her burden, even a little, then I will. I am at least safe and familiar."

Saying it to others worked better than saying it to himself. The last of his embarrassment and unease faded away. Yes, he had to remember the great burden she was under, how difficult it must be to carry it. Surely she was just feeling the tension of the battle that awaited them.

"Sometimes I forget she's a person under all that," Varric admitted quietly, and then gave a sigh. "Well, she sure won't open up to me."

"I wouldn't take it personally. Evelyn's a great deal like her father. Both on the taciturn side, and they both know how to hold a grudge. She just needs time."

"I wouldn't say that she holds grudges, Vael. I'd say treasures them. Hoards them, even," Varric said flatly. "I don't think she'll be interested in giving it up any time soon."

“No one ever said courtship would be easy.”

“Huh. And you're not worried about Cullen even a little, even though she's treating you like this?” Varric asked pointedly, and then grinned at the curious look he gave him. “What? You're the one who told her about his little crush.”

Sebastian shook his head. “It's her choice, Varric. Evie will decide without my interference, and I believe if she were interested in returning his affections, she would be honest with me.”

“That's not how this works,” Varric scoffed, dismissing him.

“Oh aye, let me guess. This isn't how the 'story' would go,” Sebastian replied, both reluctant to have this conversation, and strangely relieved to be having it. It seemed inappropriate to speak of to Max. Maximilian would interfere. “Varric, she's a woman that knows her own mind, I'm not going to condescend to her by pretending she doesn't.”

Varric snorted. “You are the _worst_ at follow-through, you know that? You always have been. Prince Half-Ass.”

Offended for once, Sebastian rolled his shoulders back, staring down at Varric with a furrow of his forehead. “I beg pardon?”

Varric grinned humorlessly, shaking his head. “You know it's true. You always had one foot out the door, Sebastian. Always left yourself an out. Yeah, you stepped up and took the throne, but one opportunity to do it and you're at it again. Chasing after your wife-to-be instead of dealing with the shit you don't like. And now this. Courting isn't about...sitting back and letting her make up her mind, it's about trying to convince her that she wants _you_.”

Rather than reject Varric's words out of hand as he wanted, instead he forced himself to listen. Of course Varric had a low opinion on some things due to their history. But could he ignore all of what he was saying based on that?

“Pressuring her wouldn't go well for me, Varric.”

“It's not pressure to act like you _want_ to marry someone, Choir Boy. I don't know. Maybe you don't. I can't pretend I know what's going on in her head or yours, but come on. This tepid, half-assed attempt at courtship you've got going on? Sure as hell wouldn't work on me.”

“Well, there goes my backup plan for a Princess of Starkhaven,” Sebastian joked by rote, his mind working over the accusations one by one, trying not to reject them.

“You might have to step it up. Sure hate to see you lose to Curly.”

“It isn't a competition, Varric,” Sebastian said disapprovingly. “It's Evelyn's life, her future. Should she choose-”

Varric interrupted him with a jab of his spoon, spattering a few flecks of gravy against Sebastian's pauldron. “See? This is what I'm talking about. Why did you even bother courting her?”

“I-” Wiping the stain from his shoulder, feeling more out of control of the conversation by the moment. “I don't want to marry a woman that doesn't want me, Varric. It doesn't seem an unreasonable thing to ask.”

“Well, why would she want to marry someone who isn't acting like they want _her_?”

Silenced by the question at last, he ignored the instinctive denial and simply let it be heard. Sometimes things needed to be heard, even if they were uncomfortable, and Varric had a particular way of being critical of him that Sebastian might not enjoy, but had often been correct in hindsight. Maybe he was right.

Maybe Sebastian had been putting all of the expectation on her, and not shouldering any of it himself. Hadn't he said it himself? Patience and forgiveness and understanding were skills that he had striven hard to develop, and was skilled at now. That was all he'd offered her thus far. Sebastian had, yet again, chosen the easy path for himself.

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I don't know why she would.”

“You two really suck at this, you know that?” Varric asked wryly, but with more compassion in his voice this time. “Ah, forget about it. What do I know?”

“More than me, apparently,” Sebastian said, chagrin rising. “I have just been trying to be...respectful. To show her that I've changed, Varric. That I'm a better man now, one who deserves her. I wanted to do things right, not make a mess of it like I did before.”

“It's _supposed_ to be a mess, Choir Boy. That's half the point of love, that it fucks everything up. I might not like Cullen, but I'll tell you something. He's _much_ better at being a mess than you are.”

“I can't declare feelings that I don't have, Varric. Of course I care for her, but as a friend. And I'm still trying to win her _friendship_ , the idea of her heart hasn't even been in the room, let alone on the table.” Sebastian shook his head, trying to ignore the part of himself that insisted it was inappropriate to even discuss this. He apparently needed the help.

“You're not treating her like a friend. A friend wouldn't let a friend treat them the way she's treating you.”

“I'm giving her space, at her request. I don't want to ruin things between us by pr-”

“Pressuring her? Yeah, I got that part. I don't know, Sebastian. Maybe that makes sense to you, but from where I'm sitting it just sounds like more excuses.”

“Well then what exactly do you expect me to do, Varric?”

“Giving a shit might be a start.”

“And yet, I have been trying very hard to _not_ let her bother me, Varric. I don't want her to feel as if she will chase me away. She is under so much pressure already...” He stared down into his untouched dinner, unable to finish it.

“I remember once I was bothering Hawke about something very similar. Really similar. Almost like it was the same exact thing all over again. I asked her if she was worried about rejecting you, and you know what she said?”

“What?” he asked, not out of curiosity, but inevitability.

Varric chuckled, without much humor. “She wasn't worried at all, because it wouldn't hurt your feelings. You'd understand. You'd still be her friend, and it wouldn't hurt you at all. Here's the thing, Choir Boy...”

“Hmm?”

“It's _supposed_ to hurt.”


	22. Matters of the Heart

It was unladylike to sulk.

That was why Evelyn was not, in fact, sulking, but instead engaging in a long and very righteous ill temper that had nothing to do with hurt feelings and everything to do with damaged pride. Which were two very different things. Not at all the same.

At some point her wounded pride had gotten twisted up with the uncomfortable new feelings she had been letting herself steep in, and had been since they had begun unraveling this mystery of the Wardens. Discovering the root of the strange unease had been slow. By the time they reached Skyhold she was tangled up in feelings like a kitten in a mending basket.

Is this what they called losing faith?

No, no, it couldn't be. For it had little to do with the Maker, and much to do with herself. How could she know she truly was following his will, after all? How could she know she wasn't as wrong as the Wardens had been, and still were? They were dying for their conviction that it was what they must do- was she dying for hers?

Was the Anchor killing her?

Would history irrevocably see her as a madwoman, a misled zealot, a murderer?

With no one to turn to with such weak and faithless questions, she stewed in them and let everyone think she was just annoyed with Sebastian again. Which she wasn't. Let him have a dozen past lovers that had all rejected him before he came begging to her father. What did it matter? She knew she'd never be anyone's first choice of a wife if they actually knew her.

It wasn't a revelation.

She was not sulking, she was resigned.

“I need to go to the war room immediately,” she signed to her brother as he drew up beside her on the bridge, the gate arching high above as they drew near. “Will you tend to Thistle for me and have someone take my things to my room?”

“Thistle?” When she patted the horse, he smiled lopsidedly. “I'm surprised you named her already. It takes you forever.”

“It seemed to suit her. Yes or no?”

“Of course,” he signed back one-handed, a bit terse. “You could try to pretend you're not in a snit. It's getting old. In another week it's going to be your longest one ever.”

“I have a lot on my mind. And shoulders.”

His expression gentled a bit, as they rode in through the gate together. “I know, hedgehog. I'm sorry. We're just worried about you, that's all, you've been in a mire since we left that bloody wasteland. Why aren't you talking to me about it?”

“Because I've had some difficulty understanding what it is,” she replied, pulling in and dismounting, trying to do so without stumbling. Despite all her skill in the saddle, she was tired. It was likely only going to be days before they were back on the road again. Gazing up at Max, she handed him her reigns and forced a smile. “Sometimes my mind isn't as clear as it should be. I'll handle the war room, and then have a bath and a meal and in the morning I'll be ready to face this all.”

“I want you to talk to me,” he signed back simply. Simple as it was, her guilt was immediate and heavy.

Max was safe. She shouldn't be keeping this from him, it was true. He wouldn't tell anyone, he wouldn't think less of her, and above all...he wouldn't tell Sebastian.

“We're holding up the line. I'll try. Dinner?”

He nodded, and she returned it, reaching up to remove her helm as she crossed the grounds. No reason to bother taking off her armor, it could wait until the updates were done. She headed straight for the stairs, road-weary and dirty, not caring a bit if there were stares to be had in the great hall. Let them.

“Inquisitor!”  
She greeted the scout above her on the walkway with a nod, and gestured. “Have my advisors gathered. At their leisure, but let them know I'm waiting,” she commanded, and continued on her way up. By the time she reached the top they had disappeared.

Her trudge up the hall was purposeful, and she ignored the whispers as she passed by them. No one would stop her, she knew by now how to walk to avoid interruptions. It likely helped that she was still armed.

Josephine was at her desk as she pushed through the door and into her office, rising to her feet immediately. Evelyn gestured with her free hand, inclining her head towards the door she was heading to. “When you're free.”

“Now, of course, Inquisitor,” Josephine assured her, scooping up a clipboard and tucking it against her chest. “Welcome back.”

“I wish it were under better circumstances. I hope our word sufficiently preceded us.”

“Four days ago,” Josephine said, smiling faintly at her grimace. “Still sufficient time, I assure you. The sappers I wrote you of are coming to join us, and the Commander has been working on the battle plans.”

“A full assault was what I was dreading and expecting,” she admitted, eyes still feeling a ghost of an ache as she remembered the assault on Griffon Wing Keep. Well, the Inquisitor had to lead. Hopefully there would be no fireballs this time. “What's our timeline?”

“Three days. We are doing our best to prepare as quickly as you requested.”

“It's excellent, Josephine. I'm sorry, I realize I have been incredibly demanding, but this is- I made a promise that I would save every Warden I could,” she said, setting her helmet down and aside. She tugged off her gauntlets one by one, grateful to see no more sand. There had been sand for days in every crack and crevice in armor and on her personage.

Horrible stuff. Got everywhere.

“Is it wise to push so hard? We had word that you had been ill...”

“Heatstroke, nothing more. I'm afraid I'm better suited to marsh, moor, and gloomy coast than sun-blasted wastelands,” Evelyn dismissed, glancing over her shoulder as the door creaked open. Leliana slipped in, and they gave one another a brief, measuring gaze before Leliana's head inclined towards her. Evelyn returned it.

“Hawke should be close behind you with more information about Adamant, but we have dug up what we can from historical records,” Leliana said, passing her a scroll that she took with a nod. “But she has confirmed that the Wardens are indeed there.”

“Good. I don't want to have to cut my way through them, but Maker- the Magister had them entirely under control. They had no free will, the mages. It was horrifying to witness.”

“But the warriors seemed to?” Leliana said, and gave a faint 'hmm' at her nod.

“Perhaps they will be willing to listen to reason, Inquisitor,” Josephine said.

“Maker will it so,” Evelyn sighed, staring at the map as the door creaked open behind her again. This time she didn't glance over her shoulder. Suddenly, oddly uneasy, she fixed her gaze on the map until Cullen cleared his throat. Forced to look in his direction, she fixed her gaze between and above his eyes, as Mother had taught her to do in order to keep her composure when faced with someone she disliked.

It looked like she was looking at him, without the necessity of meeting his eyes.

“Commander. Josephine tells me we will be ready to leave in three days time, is that correct?”

“I- yes, Inquisitor. Preparations are going swiftly.”

“Then you have a plan beginning, I take it?”

“Adamant fortress has stood against the darkspawn since the time of the Second Blight,” Leliana said, clasping her hands behind her back and staring down at the map contemplatively.

“Yes. While Adamant is a well-built fortress, it _is_ quite ancient. Built before siege equipment. A good trebuchet will do major damage to those walls. And thanks to our Lady Ambassador...” Cullen glanced sidelong to Josephine.

“As I wrote to you, Lady Seryl of Jader was pleased to lend the Inquisiton her sappers. The trebuchets have already been delivered.”

“Small favors. I suppose we should be pleased that supporting us is gaining more and more traction in Orlais,” Evelyn sighed. “And what about the demons? If we're overrun...”

“As I said, we have found some records, more specifically, construction records. I have identified several chokepoints that can be used to control the tide of battle,” Leliana said with a nod.

“Excellent. And with those, hopefully we can cut off reinforcements, and carve you a path to Warden Commander Clarel,” Cullen said, cutting a hand through the air.

She was no tactician, but she had fought now enough to understand what was at stake, and what would be lost in such a push. The idea that the Warden Commander could be reasoned with felt futile, but it must be attempted. But would trying to save Warden lives condemn even more of her- of their men to death?

Who was she to decide such a thing?

Well, who else was there?

“History might decide I'm an asshole, but it won't be because I didn't do my best,” she murmured, half to herself.

“Evelyn?” Cullen asked, puzzled.

She shook her head, clearing the cobwebs from it. “I'm sorry. Something Hawke said to me. I'll do everything I can, but we're going to lose a lot of good men.”

“They know the risks, and they know what they're fighting for,” Josephine said, but not without sympathy.

“Well, that's that, I suppose,” she said flatly. “Knight-Captain Rylen and his men are holding the field, but I've sent word they're to avoid Adamant at all costs. We don't want them forewarned. He's just making sure the way back to the field is clear, and Griffon Wing Keep is held. Picking off scouts, Venatori, and bandits. Maker forbid, if we need somewhere to fall back to, it'll be there. You chose well sending him, Cullen.”

The name was a slip-up, and she cursed herself for it as his voice warmed minutely. “He's a good man.”

“He is. They all are. Good men and women, doing their best. Let's do everything we can to make sure as many as possible survive,” she nodded, grateful to feel not even the slightest twinge of a headache. “Is there anything else urgent, before I go haring off to hunt down a wild bath?”

“Gregory Dedrick has been located. He is in the cells,” Leliana said.

“He can stew,” Evelyn decided. “I've neither heart nor stomach for that tragedy tonight. The former mayor of Crestwood can pray to the Maker and consider his crimes. I'll consider them myself when I have the heart again to give the grief he caused the proper weight.” Her voice was too cold, too grim, but she was too exhausted to pretend. “He may regret my consideration. I'm not certain yet. Josie, I'll do my best to get through whatever correspondence you need me to tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor.”

“Tomorrow, spare a little time for me?” Leliana asked, and they shared a nod. “Thank you, Evelyn. Rest well.”

She stared at the map as they filtered out, staring down at her dirty, calloused hands, nails uneven, skin too rough for embroidery. This was what she was now. For better or worse, she was this monstrous thing, the Inquisitor, a shell built around a woman. Was she truly soft, as Sebastian claimed she was?

It was difficult to believe it, she felt harder than ever.

She didn't realize they hadn't all left until the voice came quietly from behind her. “Evelyn? Are you all right?”

Of course. Well, they would be stuck together more often than not- he was the Commander. She couldn't avoid him and she couldn't hide from him forever. Too bone-deep weary to feel awkward and flustered as she had before, Evelyn just sighed, straightening up.

“I will be fine. What do you need?”

“I heard you had been ill. I wanted- I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

His voice was stilted. Awkward, holding back? Was he trying not to say anything untoward, or had her oddness only made things strange between them?

Cursing her own mind for suddenly reading too much into the situation, Evelyn closed her eyes. Was she going to do this every time they spoke? Run away, or obsess over every nuance of his tone? It wasn't as if she could say anything, it was inappropriate.

Wasn't it?

“Yes, it seems everyone heard that. Eye strain and heatstroke, nothing more. Never fear, I haven't killed your Inquisitor yet.”

“I'm fairly certain you're one and the same.” Thankfully this time his voice held wry humor, no awkwardness. He was stepping around the table, though, and this time her eyes dropped to the map rather than faking eye contact.

“You would think that, but I'm afraid I'm not. I'm just Evelyn, carting around the Inquisitor like armor I can't quite seem to take off,” she said, surprised with how bitter the words came out. Trying to strangle it back, she gave a strained laugh, fighting with the odd and tangled feelings that were surging to the surface. “I'm sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“It's only us, Evelyn. It's only me.” His voice was too soft, it upset her.

“I'm fine,” she repeated, blinking back tears. Tears! Why was she crying? Maker save her from this idiotic weakness. “There isn't anything to be said.”

What was she feeling?

Betrayal, that's what it was. A deep, simmering resentment that she'd pushed aside in lieu of the panic and confusion at first when she'd found out Cullen had feelings for her. It was the petty, childish side of Evelyn that never really went away no matter how much she tried to keep it back. The stupid, small, weak child that Sebastian praised for being gentle and feeling things too much was always there.

The anger that hid the hurt.

“You can talk to me. I would be- I would like to listen, if there's something bothering you.” His voice was so earnest she almost believed it wasn't conditional. But it was. Just like every other man in her life who wasn't her family.

Despite herself, her chin jerked up, and she stared into his eyes, her own wavering wetly, blurring her vision. The one thing she despised above all things, the betrayal that still to this day sat between her and Sebastian like a wound undressed, festering and poisoning things between them was now what Cullen had done to her as well. He hadn't been her friend after all.

He'd lied, and said he was her friend, but he wasn't.

They both had.

The tears dried, and unclouded her vision. It was inappropriate to even speak of his feelings, but it must be done for his sake, and for the sake of the army that they must lead. Her dignity be damned. “It was brought to my attention that my familiarity with you may have led to inappropriate assumptions. For that I apologize.”

His forehead furrowed, eyes dark in confusion. “Evelyn, I'm not quite certain what you-”

“You know I'm _betrothed_ , Commander,” she interrupted, leaning on the word as hard as she could.

His face went very still, eyes blank, and then he laughed faintly and ducked his head. The silence stretched between them, and her eyes could find nowhere to settle. She stared at the slit of a window with its crumbled sill, at the table, names blurred to nothingness. Evelyn stared at his hands, twisted together.

He sighed.

“Cassandra told me I was being obvious,” he mumbled.

“I am going to be married. I'm sorry. You have always been aware of this.”

“To someone you don't even _like_! Evelyn, you can't be forced to do this, I don't understand why you're convinced you must. You can do anything you want, don't you understand?” His hand reached for her as his voice cracked, and she shook her head and stepped back. “Evelyn...”

“I don't need _rescuing_ , Cullen,” she snapped, voice growing cold despite her efforts at control. “I don't need my eyes opened. I am aware of what I am doing. Sebastian's a good match. He's a better man than he was, he'll be a good father, and I will be securing a good future for my children.”

“ _Listen_ to yourself,” he insisted with surprising vehemence, slamming both hands down on the table, markers clattering noisily. “You're a person, not a commodity. What about happiness? What about love?”

“Love?” she asked bitterly, laughter spilling over the words. The miasma of emotions, so many overwhelming issues in her mind and weighing her heart all at once twisted up into one single feeling with a ferocity that frightened her. “Me?! Do you know who I am, Cullen? Do you? I am Evelyn Trevelyan, only daughter of Dierdre Trevelyan, granddaughter of the Storm Giant, cousin of the Hero of Ferelden, Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor of the bloody armies of the faithful, and I have been courted by twenty seven men-” Her voice was rising to a shout, but she couldn't stop herself now. “And loved by _none_. How dare you come to me now and ask me 'what about love'?”

He said nothing, but the way he stared at her demanded she not meet his eyes. There was something too heavy to bear in the room, but her heart was so heavy. She had to finish or it might truly shatter. Her vision swam as she shook her head violently, stepping back again.

“I waited fifteen years for love to be given to me and all I learned was that it was not meant for me. I'm not turning my back on love. Love turned its back on me a very long time ago.”

Unable to say any more, she pivoted and moved for the door, abandoning her gloves and helm in her haste.

Perhaps he said something, perhaps he didn't.

Evelyn wasn't listening any more.

Letting reigns be lightly tugged out of his hand, Sebastian stared down at the folded missive he was holding.

“You're absolutely certain-” A pause, and he amended the thought before it could be offensive. “Of course Lady Nightingale is certain. Thank you.”

Unfortunate.

While Sebastian was grateful that Leliana had tracked his lost supplies, the news itself was troubling. The men would arrive tomorrow, robbed of their goods but retaining their lives. Even more unfortunate, they had been robbed with absolutely no signs of struggle. One imagined they might have surrendered to a superior force, but Leliana's scouts claimed otherwise.

Only three men to take a wagon defended by half a dozen soldiers?

No, sadly. It had been planned. The hope that it had only been planned by the soldiers, and not the Lady who had sent them was a very faint hope.

“I take it word has come?”

“Forgive me, Madame de Fer,” Sebastian replied, folding the letter up again. “I promise you that the books will be located. I should see if Leliana's people have been able to track them.”

“It seems the Lady Cullough was not wise enough to send sufficient protection. That is hardly your fault, my dear. In times like these, the ruthless take advantage up upheaval.”

“And the merciful understand mistakes can be made. It will be rectified.”

This was no mistake, but neither had been giving mercy to Lady Cullough when he discovered she had been deep in business with the people who had murdered his parents. While he respected how well his parents had ruled, they were more ruthless than he, squelching all conflicts with a heavy hand. Sebastian had been attempting to rule otherwise. It seemed that he was being taken advantage of.

He couldn't believe his mercy had been a mistake.

It seemed, however, that Lady Ciara Cullough believed it meant he was to be taken advantage of.

“If you'll excuse me, I believe I need to go speak with Lady Montilyet.”

Vivienne smiled slowly, inclining her head. “I rather thought you might. Good luck.”

“I should remember that nothing gets past you,” he said, inclining his head with a smile as he left the stable. The smile was false, of course, but he kept it nevertheless as he passed out into the courtyard. The kitchen door was open, and he could hear the yelping of the pups. He should have someone bring them up to Evelyn's room for the evening, she'd like that.

He would have gone to Evelyn before Lady Montilyet, but despite Varric's words he was still attempting to catch her at the right time to calm her temper. It wasn't cowardice, it was strategy. Two very different things.

Ignoring the chattering Orlesian throng in the main hall, he instead admired the repairs that had been made. It was a fine, imposing sight now, free of some of the decay that still lingered in corners of this ancient place. The hangings were bright, the great throne at the end of the hall that Evelyn so hated a brave and inspiring sight.

Just as she was.

The door to Josephine's office was cracked open, and he was surprised when he entered to see Max was there before him, facing a rather distressed-looking Josephine. He couldn't see his hands from behind, but paused regardless when the Ambassador glanced towards him, a polite mien immediately slipping over her features. Max glanced over his shoulder, frown dark, but it eased when he saw Sebastian.

“Am I intruding?” he asked, glancing between them.

“I'm trying to convince her to go to Evelyn with a problem she's having. Evie would help.”

“I'm certain whatever it is, she would, Josephine,” Sebastian agreed, approaching the desk when Max nodded at him. “Why do you hesitate?”

“It is- not Inquisition business. It has to do with my family,” Josephine admitted, and he was unsurprised to see her sign and speak at the same time. Different accent, of course, but she likely spoke proper Antivan Sign, instead of the twins' version.

“You are part of the Inquisition, and that should be reflected in the respect you're given. Certainly the Ambassador knows that,” Max signed, ending on a word that Sebastian didn't know, and couldn't translate.

“Is someone disrespecting you?”

“I would not say- a carrier bearing papers that would enstate my family as landed traders in Orlais, something that would hopefully finally help my family rebuild their fortunes, was killed. And the documents were destroyed. A Comte in Val Royeaux claims to know who killed my messengers, but he will not see me unless the Inquisitor comes as well.” Josephine admitted, fingers signing with graceful ease.

Of course. Orlesians and their Game. How unfortunate that they should be so manipulative, but-

“Evelyn would absolutely aid you in this, Josephine. It isn't even a question. You should speak with her soon.”

“Very well,” Josephine said, with a small smile. “It seems I am outnumbered. Forgive me, Prince Vael. Is there something you require?”

“Well, since we're already on the topic of utilizing Inquisition resources for personal reasons,” he teased with a small smile, “I have a small issue at home to attend to.”

“Problem, brother?” Max signed.

Sebastian passed over the folded letter to Josephine, who unfolded it with a small frown, scanning it over. “Aye. I'm not going to presume the Lady Ambassador hasn't somewhat familiarized herself with my situation, as much as anyone can. I know Starkhaven politics aren't as exciting as some.”

“Lady Cullough...she was one of your nobility who had business dealings with the Harimann family, was she not?” Josephine asked, to his vague surprise.

“Well, that's what I get for assuming. I- aye. She funneled more money than most into my cousin's holding the throne. When I heavily levied trade to Tevinter I may have stepped on her toes more than some others, an attempt at a non-violent censure. It seems my mercy's been forgotten.”

“I believe you have sufficient evidence to remove her, Prince Vael, without causing too much upheaval. There are relatives who she could be replaced with. Her cousin I believe is a very successful merchant. He aided you in the removal of those smugglers that were moving kidnapped Kirkwall refugees into slavery, did he not?”

“Aye, that's right. He's a good man,” Sebastian agreed, at peace with the choice by now. “I have extended mercy to Lady Ciara, and it has been rejected. That is her choice.”

“Well, yes, but frankly, this insult was not solely against you, Prince Vael. It was against the Inquisition.”

“What are you trying to say?” Max asked, perpetual smile fading.

“With Prince Vael aiding Inquisition forces, having the insult be borne by the Inquisitor, your betrothed, rather than you would make Lady Cullough appear more than treasonous. Possibly even heretical, depending on how public opinion in Starkhaven is leaning. In public of course, there has been no outcry against the Inquisition in the city. Understandable.”

“If it is made known she stole books of magic that were meant to go to the remaining loyal Circle mages of Thedas, it should go even worse for her. The condemnation of the Templarate's abandonment of the Chantry has been unanimous,” Sebastian pointed out mildly. This was why he had come to Josephine. Involving Evie wasn't quite what he had wanted to do, but with any luck her direct involvement wouldn't be necessary.

“It's not a good look for her,” Max signed, wry smile returning.

“We can certainly-”

A door slammed open, and Evelyn stormed through it, stopping their conversation short. Her face was set, jaw tight, but it was the pain and tears in her eyes that had him instantly moving. Max's hand slammed against his chest, and he quickly shook his head. His quickly signed farewell was offered even as his back turned, and Max hastened to catch up with his sister.

She seemed to not have even seen them.

Whatever had upset her must be pushed from his mind in this moment. He could worry about it once this was handled, for trouble in Starkhaven would be trouble for them both. Still, it made him uneasy, and despite her demands for distance, if Max wasn't there he would have let this business go hang and chase after her.

He had to trust her brother would handle it.

It wasn't his place to demand she open up to him.

Moments passed, and Sebastian's attention was finally drawn from the open door by Josephine's gentle clear of the throat. Her small, sympathetic smile he managed to return with a small shake of his head. “She has a great deal on her shoulders. But please don't let that deter you. I think she'd be more upset if you didn't ask her for help, Josephine.”

“I suppose you are correct. I will ask her tomorrow. As for the situation with Lady Cullough...”

“I will write to Liam. I would write Lord Kenric as well, but I know he isn't quite so paranoid with his correspondence. Once Lady Ciara's soldiers arrive...”

“A public arrest upon their arrival to have them questioned would be the swiftest way. Although gossip will fly, if you send a message tonight it will precede any rumors. Barely. It would tip your hand very soon.”

“I'm not looking for subterfuge, Josephine, only a swift and pointed handling of the situation. To not do so would make me appear weak, and with the distance between myself and my throne at this point in time, that must be avoided at all costs. I may have to be heavy-handed.”

“I agree, Prince Vael. Starkhaven is not Orlais, and-”

They both fell silent as the door to the war room opened again, and Sebastian was neither surprised nor pleased to see Cullen. Their eyes met almost instantly, and the amount of anger in the stare as it hardened was unsettling. He met it, forcing his own expression calm and even.

Sebastian wasn't about to let the man unsettle him.

When the Commander's footsteps stalled, he could see the words gathering before they were said. They would be unwise, from the amount of anger and frustration on his face. Sebastian imagined they would be sorely regretted in hindsight.

“Don't, Commander,” he suggested quietly, well aware that it sounded more commanding than kind. “Please keep walking.”

“You-” the single word was so tense and vibrant with anger that he felt justified cutting Cullen off.

“Remember your duty, Commander. Keep walking.”

For a moment Sebastian thought it wouldn't work, that he would be forced to physically defend himself, but finally Cullen turned and marched away. Sebastian said nothing until he heard the second door in the distance slam, and then he turned an apologetic look on Josephine.

“Lady Ambassador, I-”

“No, please. No apologies are necessary,” Josephine said quickly.

“Aye, as you will. I should take this to Leliana before I free myself from the weight of the road. Thank you for your aid in this.” He stepped back, inclining his head.

“And thank you, Prince Vael. Having your reassurance makes me feel much better. Maximilian tends to be rather flippant when it comes to his sister's time and needs. I cannot say I always believe him.” She smiled, inclining her head to him.

“Yes, he does that. All of her brothers do. Until tomorrow, Lady Ambassador.”

“Good night.”

Sebastian hid a smile until his back turned, heading for the door with a much eased temper. Maximilian and not Lord Trevelyan, hmm? He hadn't been aware of their close confidence.

Evie might have been looking in the wrong direction after all.


	23. Brothers

The tap on the top of her head was getting insistent, but Evelyn wasn't interest just yet in conversation.

Finally giving up with a sigh, Max wrapped his arm back around her and gave her a squeeze. It had been cathartic to get it all out, and even if it had been a stupid ramble that barely made any sense at all she knew that her brother would understand. She should have trusted him from the start. Maybe saying it all out loud and purging it from her mind would have saved her from some of this mess.

When she let out a long, shuddering sigh and went limp, the tap finally came to the top of her head again.

Reluctantly pulling back, wiping her cheeks with both hands to clear her eyes, she breathed in slowly through her nose. It had been an uncomfortable hug, but the reassurance was what she needed. It wasn't even a bother that Max immediately started unbuckling her breastplate, a rudeness that anyone else would have gotten the sharp side of her tongue for. It was easier to have help.

“You overthink everything,” Max accused before shifting to unbuckle her other shoulder.

“You underthink everything,” she responded quietly, rising at his nudge and beginning to unbuckle her sides as he handled the other one. It would be good to get free. Hugging in full armor was cumbersome. And noisy. “Everything I do has world-shattering implications. It's terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.”

“Everything you don't do has worse. So just keep doing, hedgehog. Let history sort itself out.” He accepted the pieces of her breastplate as she passed them over, rising to head for the armor stand. She began undoing her rerebraces and pauldrons.

“Nothing to say about Cullen?” she asked when he glanced over at her.

“Do you want me to say something about it? Usually all you want me to do is sit and listen to you yell about it, and then possibly throw someone in the river if they get too improper,” Max signed, with a tolerant smile.

“Mmh. You have a point. It's just confusing. He seems to actually have feelings, and I'm not quite sure what to do about-” She stopped signing when he laughed, a quick stutter of sound. “What?”

“You can't even say 'for me',” he signed with a mocking smile. “Just 'feelings'. Of course he has feelings, he's a person, isn't he?”

“You knew what I meant.” Her testy scowl got her a kiss on the top of her head as he took the armor from her lap to put it away. “It's complicated because he's my Commander. We can't throw him in the river. For one, it's made of ice. It wouldn't work.”

Max laughed again, the sound bringing a reluctant smile to her lips despite her upset and confusion. The embarrassment remained. She shouldn't have lost her temper at Cullen, said those awful, self-indulgent things. For all she knew her little breakdown had made things worse and not better. She should have been clearer, more in control, more emotionally restrained.

She should have rejected him cleanly, and left it at that.

“I like Cullen. He's good in a spar, he seems to know what he's doing, and he might be a bit grumpy, but he's been friendly enough to me. But he's not my brother.”

“And he's not my betrothed,” Evelyn agreed with a small sigh. “Do you think he'll come around and get over it?”

“Give him time. You know, if you went and got married already, this wouldn't be a problem.”

She heard the door creak below, and wrinkled her nose. Dinner already? But she hadn't even gotten her bath yet, and it was only getting cooler. Well, apparently her little emotional outburst had taken precedence this time. As much as she hated it, the bath could wait a wee bit.

A cold bath was still better than road dirt.

“Trust me, I've tried,” she declared out loud as she signed. Who cared if a servant heard? Maker knew there was enough gossip about her flying around this place already. “The man's determined to court me. I'm just waiting for him to feel he's done enough banging his head against the wall or repenting or whatever it is he thinks he's going to accomplish.”

“Well, he _does_ have a great deal to repent for.”

The low, rumbling voice echoed up the stairwell, instantly sending her to her feet with a clatter, plate falling from her lap as she jolted up and spun around. Max's wordless noise of inquiry quickly turned to one of surprise as a looming figure stomped up to the landing. Nearly before her mind had recognized him, she flung herself into his arms, lifted off of her feet by the ruddy-haired giant of a man.

“Cal! Oh! You're here, you're finally here!” she declared delightedly, scooped up to his shoulder, a rough bearded cheek pressed to the side of her head. She clung, for far too long, not caring that her booted feet were dangling like a child. A soft, soundless chuckle was felt rumbling against her chest.

He squeezed her tightly and set her gently down on her feet, a pair of solemn brown eyes staring down at her as she tilted her chin up to meet them. He didn't look road-worn, tidy and clean and rested despite the deep squint-creases at the corners of his eyes, but the bushy ginger beard was a bit much. Frowning, she reached up for it, and Callum gently swatted her hands away.

“No fussing about that.”

“You look like a farmer, not a Brother,” she retorted, but smiled at his slow, familiar laugh.

“Just making sure I don't lose any of my dinner down my chin,” he said, and chuckled again at the disgusted face she made. “Let me greet my small brother, wee hedgehog.”

Stepping out of the way, smile remaining, she watched her brothers embrace with a tight hug and clap on the shoulders. Strife momentarily forgotten, she quickly divested herself of the rest of her armor as they held a rapid-fire conversation about Cal's trip. Catching a snippet out of the corner of her vision, she let out a breath through her nose. Fond annoyance, for she couldn't ever be upset with amiable, careful Cal, but annoyance all the same.

“No,” she signed shortly, moving for the folding curtain they'd finally found for her.

“We lost a lot of people,” Cal replied, and continued out loud as she ducked behind the curtain. “I haven't much of a choice. This endeavor of yours must be properly recorded, and there isn't anyone else available.”

“Yes, because everyone will trust a history of the bloody Inquisition written by the Inquisitor's brother. Be reasonable, Cal.”

“And yet, I'm one of the few well-established Chantry historians left. There is no better use of my time, effort, and pen right now, hedgepig. The Chantry will decide in their own time if my scribblings are of value or no. Picking apart histories and writing critical essays is part of the process. My point of view may be invaluable, even if it becomes controversial.” His deep, gentle voice maintained a spark of humor. “Even if it is biased.”

“Yes, against me,” she teased. “As is the way of brothers.”

“I've my duty, as you have yours. Max agrees with me.”

She made a noise of dismissal rather than engaging, far too ready to get out of her underthings. She did her best to keep her leathers and arming doublet clean, but there was only so much one could do. Sadly she couldn't wash just yet, but a clean dress and overdress slung over the changing curtain were enough to at least make her feel less like a mess. They were new, she noted, but of a very close design to the things she already had, proper garb and not Orlesian nonsense. The dark burgundy skirt and black lace-up bodice were a nice color combination over the loose white blouse. She might have some finished embroidery pieces that would go nicely as decoration.

What a lovely surprise.

Josephine must have had them made. She'd have to remember to thank the Ambassador later, she was always so thoughtful. Unpinning her braids from the tight circlet and knot, she let them unwind, discarding the pins on her wash stand as she stepped back around the curtain. Cal and Max were still chatting, and she glanced briefly at the conversation on her way to her desk.

“I don't have a love life,” she contradicted loudly, trusting Cal to translate as she flopped down and reached for the decanter of whisky that had been refilled in her absence. “At least have the decency to not gossip about me in my own room.”

Pouring herself a glass, she rolled her eyes as Max signed a rude word at her and went back to his conversation. At this distance the hands blurred a bit too much to follow, and she resigned herself to being cut out. It wasn't as if she didn't trust him.

The pile of correspondence waiting was ignored, except to be gently shoved aside for her glass. Deftly she began unplaiting her braids, staring at the fireplace with an absent, unfocused gaze. The joyous surprise of having Cal here had banished some of her misery, but it was threatening to come back. A sip of whisky chased it back away with cleansing fire.

There would be trials enough soon without her adding to them.

“Don't you need to wash after your ride?” The question came twice before it filtered into her head, and she blinked and glanced back up, and up again into Cal's concerned face.

“Oh aye, but I didn't want to chase you out. Max, yes, but not you.”

“Rude. I'll go wash up myself and poke my nose in the kitchen,” Max signed over, and she nodded her head and smiled, pressing a kiss to two fingers. He flipped her the vee in response.

Max bid his farewell to Cal with another thumping hug and headed off down the stairs, thudding into the distance. Left alone with her biggest of her big brothers, their eyes met in quiet communion until the distant door closed with a creak. Evelyn smiled weakly.

“Poppy, what a mess you've gotten into,” he said solemnly, approaching and crouching down to kneel next to her seat.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, leaning in to rest her forehead against his broad, freckled one. He took her Anchor-marked hand and turned it over, thumb brushing across her palm. She let him examine it in silence until the weight of his words became too heavy to bear. “Oh _Cal_ , I'm well and truly stuck in it. What am I to do? I'm trying to have faith, but it seems as if everyone else is so busy putting faith in _me_ that stopping to question anything is tantamount to betraying them.”

“And you think that Andraste never had a moment of doubt? You think that the Divine never felt the weight of the hearts of Thedas and the fear of failing them? The burden will be heavy. You need to share it, and I know how difficult that is for you.”

Smiling ruefully, she shook her head very gently against him. “I'm sorry, Bear. We've only just said hello and already I'm complaining at you.”

“And who but me? I'm the one who raised you, bandaged your skinned knees and pulled you out of trouble.” He tousled her hair gently as he pushed up.

Evelyn laughed, finally leaning back in her seat again. He rested his weight against the desk, arms crossing over his broad chest. “Don't tell that to mama even if it's true, she'll be offended. Have you said hello to Sebastian?”

“Should I?”

“I thought it was me that was supposed to hold a grudge,” she teased quietly, reaching for her whisky again and cradling it in both hands.

“Grudge? No. It isn't me who he trespassed against, wee hedgepig. 'Tis you. So the question is- have you forgiven him?” The quiet, thoughtful cadence of his question forced her to genuinely pause and think about his words.

Seconds passed, and she stared down into her glass. “At least I've untangled myself from around the things he _did_ and realized they didn't hurt as badly as I thought, but actions were always of smaller import to me than lies. What happened at my birthday- well, it seems small now. I even managed to laugh over it. Is that forgiveness? I don't know.”

“I told you it once, and I'll tell it to you again. You deserve better. You always did.”

“He genuinely apologized, as far as I can tell. I cannot say there is any sentiment between us, or even friendly affection. He's attentive and pleasant. He hops to quick enough when I need something.” She lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

“You always treated him more like property than a partner, Poppy,” Cal pointed out with a hint of a smile on his broad, ginger-bearded face.

She laughed at that, not bothering to deny it. “Oh aye. I was a terror. Sebastian said you all spoiled me. He wasn't wrong, even though I didn't enjoy hearing it from him.”

Callum scoffed. “As if he has the right to be calling anyone such when he was a coddled green apple that ripened rotten. You're sound and hearty, he hasn't any right to call you spoilt. Ach. I don't want to talk about the wastrel, reformed or no.”

“You're a Brother now, no more giving him black eyes.” It was quite a serious warning, because she knew Callum far too well to trust that his famously easygoing nature would extend to Sebastian. It never did.

“I'll pray for him,” Callum said placidly, and she knew it was a threat. “Your Commander came to hear the Chant a few times, Poppy, and we spoke of my purpose here. I don't think he realized I was your brother. He speaks of you with great respect and faith. If what Max says is true, are you certain you want to be so quick to shut him out?”

“Am I to scold Max for meddling and stay silent when you try?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light. It was difficult, she had depended so heavily on Callum's council and opinion on things when they were younger, but there was no denying he had always been biased against Sebastian. She'd always gone to her biggest brother to cry over him, rather than upset Max by complaining about his friend.

It was probably her fault that Callum despised Sebastian.

“Not meddling. Just asking you to think, and maybe pray, rather than deciding there's only one way to do things- as you tend to do. Have your bath and your dinner. Get rest and come tomorrow to hear the Chant. It'll help, it always does.”

Evelyn sighed, acknowledging her own hectic neglect of her prayers and contemplations. “Aye. It'll help. Are you sufficiently taken care of? Do you have everything you need?”

“Mother Giselle and your Lady Montilyet take sufficient care of us, never you mind. I'm the only scholar to hand currently, so I've a wee room to myself and everything.” He grinned broadly, and tipped her a wink. “Small recompense for nearly getting branded a traitor.”

“Oh no. Truly?”

“No, no,” he dismissed with a chuckle. “The upheaval is slowly sorting out. The Chantry's stopped being so violently reactive to those who wish to support the Inquisition- they're running out of options. With the Marches so firmly behind you, and Ferelden now as well...let's just say those still calling you a heretic are starting to keep it to themselves, hmm?”

“Well, we share a name, I suppose regardless they would have turned on you sooner or later. You're safest here,” she decided, nodding her head. “Go shave, Bear. It's unbecoming of a Brother.”

“I like it,” he rumbled scratching his fingers against his chin. “I haven't got to impress anyone, I'm just a humble historian here to write the mighty deeds of the wee hedgepig who used to get lost in the marshberry thickets and eat herself sick, crying from her tummy-ache until I came and rescued her.”

“I do not think that needs to be scribed to the annals of history,” she told him severely, forcing away both frown and smile.

“I don't know,” Callum mused quietly, heading towards the stairs at a slow, plodding pace. “Mayhaps if we knew a bit more things like that about the people of history, we wouldn't expect all of our heroes to be infallible. History's never as pretty and pat as the stories. Hedgehog?”

“Hmm?”

“Something is troubling your Commander. Not to do with you, something else. I realize your feelings towards the man are confused right now, but I think as his leader you might need to set that aside and speak with him. You have a duty to him.”

Frowning, she wasn't quite sure what to think of that. “I'll take that under advisement, Cal. Thank you for telling me.”

“Aye. Good night, Poppy.”

Watching Callum go, she was struck by an oddly forlorn feeling. He was always so far from her, he had been for nearly ten years now. They wrote constantly, but it was never quite the same. Aye now wasn't the time to cling to him, but there was a child's melancholy that made itself known as she watched him go.

Callum had great and important things to do, as did they all, and she should be grateful their purposes had brought them together, not sad.

“Don't go far from me,” she plead, knowing it was selfish, as she had the last time she'd asked it. Last time he'd been leaving for Orlais, almost eight years ago. Leaving her behind.

Unlike last time, he paused and glanced over his shoulder, barely visible above the stairwell. “Not too far, Poppy. We'll keep your feet on the ground, I promise.”

“I'm afraid.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to ask- I'm afraid to ask. It sounds like hubris, or lack of faith, but...what if in the end they turn on me, Callum? What if I die an enemy?” The words were small and weak, but they were the heart of the fear she'd been carrying inside of her. Worse than fear of death. Fear of shame to her name, her family, and her hard work, a shame would live beyond whatever end of her life that would come.

“And she shall see flame, and go towards Light,” he replied solemnly, the verse that had kept her stumbling through the snow after Haven. “Just focus on the Light. The Maker will be waiting for you if your fear is true, and He knows the truth of your heart. But never fear. If you die, Evelyn, it won't be alone. We'll never turn against you.”

Lower lip shaking despite all her efforts to control it, she nodded twice, and lifted her chin. Callum echoed the motion, and then continued down the stairs. She believed him. It helped.

Still, when she had her bath at last, she cried herself out for the second time.

That helped as well, as loathe as she was to admit it.

“Why are you hiding in the kitchen?”

The accusation wasn't unwarranted, but Sebastian didn't let it fluster him. Dropping his spoon into his bowl, he lifted his hands to sign a response to Max. “Why are you in the kitchen at all?”

The pup that had decided to claim his lap, a sturdy brindled girl, sneezed noisily all over his arm and went back to her bit of beef bone. Max made a slight face, eyeing the dog dubiously. “I'm playing servant and stealing dinner to take up to Evie's. Unlike home, I don't get chased out with a spoon here.”

“There's dried peas to be sorted for the potage, keeping my hands busy helps my mind focus. I have a lot to think about right now.”

Max gave him a look of disbelief, glancing over at the busy cooks and servants, and then back again at him. “There are people for that.”

“I don't get underfoot. You sound like your sister,” Sebastian signed. “Is she feeling all right?”

“She needs some time. I think she's just exhausted,” Max signed, gratefully taking the change in conversation willingly, lips curving into a slight frown. “Quiet and sleep and a good meal will help, I think. You know how she pushes things down and down until they overflow. She still has work to do tomorrow, but I'm hoping between Cal and I we can get her to spend some time relaxing as well.”

“Callum is here?”

Max grinned a broad grin, reaching up and sweeping back his silver-streaked hair out of his face before signing. “Aye. Should I find you somewhere to hide, brother?”

“Did I look that nervous?” Sebastian chuckled, though the faint unease in his stomach remained. He'd always wanted Callum's approval, but it'd never been given. Too protective. “I'd like to speak with him. We're both grown men now, and we both want the best for Evie. I'm certain we could find a way to get along. With less punching.”

“Give it a day or two. You're prying much less than I expected.”

Sebastian was grateful when Max turned to put together his dinner, allowing him a chance to gather his thoughts. What should he say? He'd been trying his best not to think about it, to wonder what altercation with Cullen had left her in tears. When he did take a moment to consider it, it was like a floodgate in his mind opened. Of course he regretted her tears and worried about her, but that wasn't what these feelings were that abruptly escaped and silenced him.

He did want to know what had been said, and he was upset that he didn't. It was more than curiosity, and had as much to do with himself as it had to do with her. It wasn't jealousy, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it might be a precursor to it. Things he hadn't been letting himself feel.

Things it seemed inappropriate to feel.

A tilt of Max's head towards him and a raised eyebrow silently demanded a response.

Considering his oddly strong emotions, Sebastian shook his head and lifted his hands. “It was private.”

“Is it, though? You're the one who told her about his feelings in the first place.”

“She deserved the right to know. She deserves the right to choose.” It was the proper thing to say.

Max abruptly scowled at him, tossing the torn hunk of bread he'd stolen onto a tray. When he leaned his weight against the table and peered down at Sebastian, the puppy barked aggressively and hopped up to try and nip at him. Sebastian busied himself scooping her up and pulling her back, ignoring the stare still levered on him.

“You're acting like you don't care.”

The accusation, like the one from Varric, was true enough that he could feel the sting of it. And also like Evelyn's confrontation with Cullen, it bothered him more than it should have, defying his attempts to keep an even, calm temper.

“I do. More than I should,” he signed carefully, taking his time. “I...can't. Make demands on her affections, or attention, or time, Max. I'm-” The revelation stilled his hands as it washed over him, forcing him to admit it at last. The source of what Varric had called his 'tepid' and 'half-hearted' attempts at courtship. Why he'd been holding himself at arm's length from his own emotions, his own feelings, why he couldn't seem to approach her as a man, only as a penitent.

No, it wasn't jealousy after all.

“What, brother?”

“I'm afraid of losing her again,” he admitted. “And I'm afraid of myself, Max. I may have left the Chantry, but I've still been living my life as a Brother. I never gave up my vows. I never stopped following them, as much as I could as Prince.”

“So?”

“I've been tested, yes, but I've always had my vows to lean on. It took me three years to even have a drink, and while I'm grateful to discover I can handle it now, other vices remain untested, Max.”

There was a long pause, a variety of emotions flickering across Max's face. Finally he sighed, splaying a hand over his face in exasperation, the movements of his other hand short. “That is my _sister._ ”

Sebastian waited until the other hand finally dropped, meeting the gray-green eyes narrowed at him. “I didn't mean I was terrified I was going to immediately turn into a bloody lech if I let my guard down, Max! I mean that- maybe I don't even know what I mean. I just don't ever want to slip down that path of sin again. I don't want to be that man. It may not even be logical, Max. Fear often isn't.”

“I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you.”

“Do I have anyone else to have it with?” Sebastian asked, as exasperated as Max.

“No. Well. You can't quit the field of battle and wait for her to pick a side just because of that. Just because she's prickly doesn't mean she wants to be kept at arm's length, Sebastian. I'd think you of all people would know that. You always knew how to make her smile.”

“I'm a bit old to go pulling her braids any more, Max,” Sebastian sighed. “I'm sorry. All or nothing just seems to be a bit easier than- than this. Wasn't it you that always teased me about it? I was always too afraid of getting hit to spar with her.”

“I know I've been pushy, brother, but...if you really can't bring yourself to try, I'd rather she was happy. I'd rather both of you were happy, but barring that, you know my shield always belongs to my sister, first.”

Sebastian grimaced, dropping his head briefly into a nod, before glancing back up again. “I have been protecting myself. I've never been good at dealing with my own emotions.”

“Yes, I'm aware. Do you think I didn't see it growing up? The way you'd just shrug and pretend it didn't bother you when your mother would say sharp things to you? 'Your brother wouldn't do that, your brother wouldn't do this. Why are you such a disappointment, Sebastian?'. I saw it. And you'd just laugh and shrug it off, but I knew how it bothered you. I could see the weight of their disapproval on you. I could see how you buried it inside yourself and gave up.”

After his discussion with Evelyn where she had claimed he'd been neglected, the urge to defend his parents wasn't quite so strong. Instead, he simply nodded. Resting a hand on the dozing puppy in his lap, he signed with the other. “I want to be better than that now. Especially for her. She's not the girl that I remember and I'm not the lad I was before things went so wrong, but I'm coming to know her again and the things I loved so dearly are still there. I just fear the things she loved in me might be gone. I'm afraid to find out if that's true.”

“Stop trying so hard and be yourself. Maker. You're completely overdoing this, which makes perfect sense now. Brother. _Relax_. She's not going to shatter if you don't handle her like a bloody Orlesian vase. She doesn't _like_ being treated that way, she never has.”

“She's still a Lady, and the Inquisitor. I can't treat her like a soldier would treat a tavern girl.” He dismissed, trying not to laugh at the face Max pulled. It was relieving to say this out loud, much easier than trying to sort his own thoughts alone.

“Still my sister, which is why I hate that I'm saying this, but there's a bloody middle ground, Sebastian. I can't believe you're forcing me to say this.”

“I'm not forcing you to say anything,” Sebastian denied, more amused by the moment by Max's irritated, brusque signing.

“You're _forcing_ me,” Max denied, “to say this. Sebastian?”

“Yes, Max?” he finally chuckled.

“Just flirt with my sister, would you?”

The laughter died, and he sobered up, glancing down at the sleeping puppy in his lap. “I will try.”

“You might get hurt if you let yourself get attached. I don't think she knows where her heart is right now. But to be honest? I think the least you can do for Evelyn is risk it, considering how much you hurt her. I'm going to go eat. Have fun with your peas and your dogs. You're practically Ferelden.”

“The kitchen boy said the little one has been crying frequently. I think she misses Evelyn, can you take her with you? You know how attached Mabari get,” Sebastian replied, smiling faintly to himself at Max's look of distaste, and teasingly used his own tactics against him. “It's the least you can do for Evie, Max.”

“Bastard,” Max signed back.

When he left, the little runt went with, hopefully to bring some joy. Animals were good for that. Evie deserved some comfort and affection. The question was, could he bring himself to offer those things, knowing that he might be rejected? It wasn't a vice to admit he'd always enjoyed charming people, and yes, he'd been deliberately holding it back now. He could be honest about that, having faced it.

But it wasn't just a game with Evelyn. Even so, they were right. He needed to treat her like more than the Inquisitor, or the subject of his repentance.

He needed to treat her like a woman.


	24. Sweet Memories

Watching Mother Giselle walk away across the garden, Evelyn tried to school her expression to calmness.

Inside she was raging, which felt incredibly inappropriate. It wouldn't do to forget how much the woman had done, and was still doing for the Inquisition, but her protective instincts were demanding she rise and fight. But no. No.

Breathing out a sigh, and denying the need to go and vent to her biggest brother, instead Evelyn turned on a heel and stormed off. Grabbing the edges of her skirt, she kilted it up into her belt as she stomped up the stairs, ignoring the lingering courtiers- they could stare. The Inquisitor's calves could be another scandal.

Just like her apparent corruption by insidious Tevene evil.

Across the hall she stomped, ignoring Max's curious look from over his dinner. She greeted and dismissed with a brief sign, and then continued into the rotunda. Solas glanced up from his desk, and she shook her head at him. Hands went to her hips.

“Dorian!” she shouted, echoing upward.

“Evelyn,” Solas scolded with a wince.

“I apologize,” she said, but continued doing exactly what she was apologizing for.

After ten seconds or so Dorian's head popped over the railing, and she pretended not to notice the other curious downward stares from every level above. She stared at him, upside-down, meeting his puzzled stare.

“What have I done now?” he yelled back, flippantly.

Solas winced again, but she pretended not to notice.

“Have you been whispering in my ear, serpent-like, to corrupt me and turn me from the Maker's Light and into heretical Tevinter dogma? Because I do believe we discussed that and I made myself very clear that there would be no corrupting serpent-like whispering, did I not?”

Dorian's confused expression quickly turned to open amusement. “Oh, no. I simply haven't had time, cousin. Terribly sorry. I could try to fit it into the schedule?”

“No, no, that's all right. I just thought if we were going to be accused of it, I should clarify and make sure it wasn't actually happening! That's all. Carry on.”

“Right you are, Inquisitor! I'll just go back to my evil cackling, then!”

Dropping her gaze, ignoring all the stares from above, she met Solas' disapproval with her sweetest, most diplomatic smile. He raised an eyebrow at her, silently. The anger and conflict had been transmuted by her little fit, and as they stared at one another her lips curved up into a slow smile, a small laugh escaping.

Solas shook his head slowly, and turned his attention back down to his book.

She caught the edge of his smile before she turned and left.

Mood sweetened by her little fit of petulance, she ignored the whispers as she returned to the hall. The calm from her morning prayers and meditations on the Chant returned. Her heart was not any less heavy, but she no longer felt as if she couldn't bear the weight.

Pausing, she kissed her brother on the temple and leaned against his side, peeking down at his sheaf of sketches splayed out on the table next to him. “Josie makes a lovely subject. She doesn't mind you bothering her?”

“I sat in the corner and stayed out of the way,” he denied, pausing to shuffle through the papers. “I'm particularly proud of this one of Blackwall carving. Every time I ask if I can sketch him, though, he gets embarrassed. It's funny.”

“That is lovely, I like how you did the light. Did your water paints come finally? That's tea, not paint, isn't it?”

“Yes and yes. I don't have the right paper for them, though,” Max signed, and laughed at her exasperated sigh. “It's fine. It'll come eventually. I told Vivienne I'd like to paint a proper portrait of her. Just sketching is all well and good, but I really want to paint. She promised me she'd make sure I got supplies in. Should be here when we get back.”  
“Ah, clever. You're going to do her in oil on a canvas?” When he nodded, she smiled softly. “Good.”

“I figure if I paint enough important people and get in demand, mother will have to give up,” Max signed flippantly, lips curving up into a smile. “And before you protest and say something about how you'll make sure it doesn't happen- I can handle myself. Don't worry, Evie.”

“Mmh,” she said, relenting at the hug around her waist and tug in, bumping against his shoulder. “As you like, scut. Are you going to tell me what Dorian was talking about when I was ill yet?”

“No,” he signed. “Let me handle my own business or I'll get annoyed with you. You have the whole of Thedas to fuss over. Have you finished all pressing matters for the day?”

“Aye,” she said, nodding slowly. “I've spoken to Leliana, sent off some orders, and delegated as much as I could with Josephine. All I need to do is go through my letters. Cal said you two agreed I'm to take the rest of the day off, which, I outrank both of you now so mind your manners.”

“Sorry, it's been decided. You can write tomorrow.”

“There will be more to do tomorrow, there always is,” she denied with a wrinkle of her nose. “If I push things off I'm just making it worse for myself.”

“No choice. You're already late for dinner. You should probably head to your room.” His smile was deliberately innocent, not changing when she shoved lightly at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, hedgehog,” Max replied, going back to his food. “Be on your way.”

Curious but annoyed, she poked at him for a few seconds but was given nothing. Scowling, she finally released him and wandered up the hall, glancing over her shoulder twice. Max continued to ignore her.

Huffing a sigh, she pushed through the door, glancing briefly at the throne on her way. She really should sit in judgment, but still she didn't have the heart to deal with Dedrick. Not today. It must be done, and she would, but a small bit of rest was an enticing thing with her head so full and her heart so heavy.

A familiar, but unexpected yelp had her pausing as she pushed through the second door, gazing up the stairwell with a puzzled frown. She'd sent the pup back to her siblings last night before bed. Why was she back again?

Much to her dismay, as she stomped up the stairs she found Sebastian sitting on the rug with a pair of pups. They were in the midst of a clumsy tussle, which he was overseeing. It seemed either Josephine had brought in some things for him, or one of his supply trains had, for he was dressed more casually, but more appropriately than he had been before, in a loose white linen shirt, barely laced, and a dark blue vest left unbuttoned over it. The finely-tooled boots and heavy belt were definitely not his armor.

It was annoying that she noticed it instantly.

It was irritating that it suited him so well.

“What are you doing here?”

Her voice was too sharp, but she wasn't feeling up to being surprised. Sebastian just smiled, and the little yelp the pup made at the sound of her voice started thawing her heart. The little runt trundled free of his hands and immediately made a beeline for her, bounding clumsily.

“She missed you. I'm afraid she's well bonded, Evie. The kitchen boy says she cried all night.”

Sighing, she sank to the floor in a puddle of skirts at the top of the stairs, greeting the wee pup with both hands. The silly whelp threw herself bodily at Evelyn's lap, all oversized paws and lolling tongue, demanding attention joyously. There was simply no choice but to give it.

“Oh, you silly little beast. I can't wait on you hand and foot,” she scolded as the wrinkly-faced puppy lolled on her back, all four paws in the air. So much bigger than she had been, but still much smaller than her sister, who immediately bounded over when Sebastian rose to his feet. Exasperated and fond, she let them both clamber all over her.

“Tea, Evie?”

“I suppose. What are you doing here?” she asked, smile fading as she glanced up at him.

“You already asked that,” he said with a smile, crossing to the fireplace. She watched him with narrow eyes as he opened the kettle to check it. When he hooked it over the fire and wandered to her desk as casually as if he belonged there, annoyance came back.

“What are you doing?” she asked, exasperation in every word.

“Making tea? I'm pleased to see the set I sent you is getting use.”

“It's the only one I have,” she said, feeling all the more annoyed when he only smiled. “Must I be blunt? Very well, then. Sebastian Vael, what are you doing in my bloody room?”

“Having dinner,” he replied, and laughed at her immediate scoff. “Well, sadly Skyhold isn't as suitable for a picnic as home, but we're making do with what we have.”

Disbelief rose. “You didn't.”

He didn't answer and she didn't wait, rising to her feet with a huff. With the puppies bounding around her feet she couldn't stomp or storm, but she kept her expression severe as she swept out onto the balcony. To her utter chagrin, her fears were true.

Spread out near the railing was a wool blanket set and waiting, her mind dumbfounded as she instinctively crouched down and scooped up both puppies before they could bolt for it. They wriggled in her grip as she took in the sight, dishes set out and waiting with small finger foods and fruit, things suitable for a leisurely meal. There were flowers. She had no doubt he had even picked them himself.

What a horrible, insufferable man Sebastian Vael was.

For once, she didn't know what to say.

There was something particularly delightful about Evie's sulking.

It might have been the fact that he knew it meant she was feeling things she was angry about, but it also might have been the charming way she would huff and sigh and pout about quite literally everything. He couldn't even refill her tea without her grumping over it. Oh, certainly some people would find it utterly intolerable, ill-mannered and tiresome, but he knew her too well for that.

Evie had impeccable manners.

When they were children he'd found her tempers hilarious, and had enjoyed prodding at her just to see what would happen. It seemed he hadn't grown out of it. It seemed she hadn't grown out of it either, which he found surprisingly delightful.

Sitting with perfect posture, teacup in her lap, she was staring past him, ignoring him. Giving in to a rather childish impulse, he reached out, grabbed the end of her braid, and pulled on it. Whipping her head around, she stared at him, wide-eyed, annoyance gathering like rainclouds.

“Sebas-”

“Pay attention to me,” he replied, and smiled all the wider when she gave him one of the icy looks she was so good at. “You haven't touched your dinner.”

“I'm not hungry,” she lied cooly, lifting her chin and giving a proud little toss of her head.

He let the braid slip from his fingers with the motion. “Are you still angry at me? They've already eaten, and if you let them out you'd just fret about them falling off of the balcony the whole time. You know hunting dogs shouldn't be fed from the table.”

“It's not a table, and they don't have to be hunting dogs if they don't want to be,” she replied in a long sigh, smiling reluctantly at his chuckle. “Just because you're right doesn't mean I like it.”

“You never like it when I'm right,” he said, picking up the small knife and one of the small, honey-sweet Orlesian apples. Cutting out a slice, he offered it over on the side of the knife.

Staring down her nose at him, Evie accepted it with a graciously grudging, “thank you. A little treat couldn't hurt them.”

“Are you this bad with all of your nieces and nephews?”

While she scoffed over that, he finished cutting the apple into slices, setting half of them on her empty plate. Idly discarding the core off the balcony to disappear into the depths of the Frostback Mountains, he leaned over and picked up a wedge of sharp cheese, cutting that up as well. If she was going to be a pain about it, he'd just have to keep driving her mad with solicitousness.

“Stop it,” she ordered as he carefully arranged the slices on her plate. When he just raised an eyebrow and ate the last slice off the end of his knife, she shoved lightly at his shoulder. “You aren't charming, you're just a pain.”

“I am very charming,” he contradicted her, hiding a smile as she picked up another piece of the apple, staring darkly at the untouched plates. “Pastries don't get any sweeter if you scowl at them.”

Evie stared contemplatively at the half slice of apple, and then down at the less humble things he'd managed to scare up for her. Her expression turned so pensive that he was beginning to be concerned that he'd said something wrong. It had seemed innocuous enough of a statement.

“I remember when Orlesian sweets were a shocking luxury,” she finally said, smiling faintly to herself, expression gentle and soft. “Mother wouldn't let them be made. 'Waste of butter' she always said. Then we'd visit Starkhaven and the food was always so grand. I thought when I grew up and we were married, it'd be nothing but pastries every day.”

Not wanting to banish the look from her eyes, he kept his own voice quiet. “Oh?”

“Now I just miss the small things. Fish so fresh it'd come live in a barrel. Oysters. Maker, I miss oyster pie. Violette's terrible scones. So many years in the Marches and the woman still can't make scones. She tries because Alan loves them, and he chokes them down because he loves her.”

He laughed, reaching out and catching her braid again as it swung back and forth from her head-shake, the waning daylight sending a scarlet sheen over its curves. This time when he tugged her gently, wanting to see her eyes, she just glanced down at him and smiled. It was a soft, wistful smile.  
“I have so many more important things I should be thinking of,” she admitted, voice heavy with regret.

“Not right now, virago. Later, aye. But right now just let your mind wander as it likes, hmm?”

“It seems determined to,” she sighed, picking up a piece of cheese and turning it over in her fingers.

Rather than let her go, he found himself winding the long, gleaming braid around his hand, running his thumb over the plait. Staring at it, a smile came to his lips unbidden, roused by a hazy, sweet memory. He glanced up into her solemn face, but saw a softening of her eyes that emboldened him. “Do you remember the first time you kissed me?”

She scoffed, but softly, the sound half a sigh. “Do I? Oh aye, for you turned red as mother's wedding roses. Maybe I was just tired of you pulling on me all the time.”

“Maybe I was too afraid to kiss you,” he replied, smiling to himself. “Too young to know what it really meant, but adoring you anyways.”

“We were just babies. How long ago that was.”

He smiled sadly, letting the braid slip from his fingers. A soft, wistful feeling there. Glancing up, he asked curiously, “do you want wedding roses planted when we go to the Chantry, virago? I'd forgotten that was a tradition in your family. Or should I only plant thistles for you?”

“Thistles-” She paused, glanced aside, and he saw her gaze fix on the teacup next to her thigh, painted with those purple flowers. The soft curse and close of her eyes confused him.

“What, Evie?”

“I didn't stop to- it's nothing,” she replied, taciturn and prideful, turning her face away.

Reflexive, he reached for the ruddy braid he'd dropped, and pulled on her yet again. Funny how the habit had come right back when he let down his guard. “Evie.”

She scowled, swatting his hand away and twisting the braid up in her hand, teeth catching her lower lip. He waited patiently through her conflict, though when the skin under her teeth began to whiten, he reached up and tapped her chin. The fact that she immediately released her lip without even scolding him or seeming to notice roused a curious pleasure.

“I may have named my mare Thistle,” she admitted, and hastened over his rising amusement, “but it wasn't because of you!”

He smiled slowly, enduring her grumbling and eye-rolling with nothing but pleasure. It meant she was feeling something. This had started out a bit difficult and strange, but now that they'd found this small, quiet moment together, it all felt so natural that he wondered why he'd been so afraid of letting down his guard.

“It obviously wasn't,” he agreed softly. “Well, I won't call you Thistle, then, but you'll never be able to escape knowing it.”

Evelyn gave him her coldest stare, and rather than pulling back he laughed, sitting straight. Pleased when she slapped her hands against his shoulder and shoved him, he rocked under the pressure. The smile couldn't be contained.

“No roses,” she said quietly, turning away from him to stare out at the mountain vista, shading from white and blue to gold as the sun descended. “There are plenty of roses at the Starkhaven palace. How would I know what was meant for me? Why would it be different?”

“Then I won't,” he agreed. “For you are a singular woman, and should be treated as such. Maybe your mother will give us a cutting, though. Trevelyan roses belong in the Vael garden.”

“Is that some sort of metaphor?” she asked tartly.

“We've established, Evie, that you're a thistle and not a rose,” he said to make her annoyed, which it predictably and pleasantly did. “Though I suppose both have their prickles, roses have gotten far too tame. I suppose wild roses might suit you well enough.”

“Aren't they a bit plain? Ordinary? You can walk down any road and see wild roses,” she said. “Are you calling me plain, Sebastian? Am I too ordinary?”

Rather than answer her, he gave her a frankly appraising glance. Eyes unclouded, mind free of history and sentiment, he gazed at her in the light of sunset, head tilting. The long, ruby-lit braid coiled over her partially-bared, freckled shoulder and cascaded into her lap, her eyes like a stormy sea on a cloudy day. The very slight divot in the middle of her full lower lip enhanced the natural curve of her lips that gave her a solemn, thoughtful expression in peaceful moments.

He knew how she disliked the delicacy of her features, the large eyes, the small upturned nose, but he'd always found it charmingly contradictory to her strong mind and aggressive personality. When they were small he'd thought she looked like a little doll, but she commanded like a warlord. Now she'd grown into it, but there was always something unexpected about her.

Taking a breath just to gaze at her roused the strangest sensation.

“How many sunsets have you seen?”

She frowned at him, before glancing past him to the sky. “Many. Why?”

“Is it still beautiful?”

“Aye,” she said, guarded now.

“Beautiful things are always beautiful, Evie. Sometimes we just have to stop and appreciate them. When we do, it can strike the heart like lightning.”

He was expecting more shoving and bluster, but much to his surprise, her cheeks went a particularly charming shade of pink, eyes averting. That too made the warm, tense feeling in his chest all the worse. The silence stretched between them.

When she abruptly rose, teacup rattling in its saucer as her thigh bumped into it, the moment was shattered. He expected her to sweep off back to her room, but instead she turned away to stand at the railing, fingers clutching at it. He wanted to rise and follow, but the tension in her shoulders held him back.

“You're the worst, Sebastian Vael,” she finally accused in a choked voice.

Nervousness turned to pleasure, and he smiled to himself, reaching for his cup of tea. “Thank you, Evie.”


	25. An Unexpected Departure

Cupping her cheek in her palm, Evelyn rested her elbow on the stone railing and watched the courtyard below.

With another crack, the axe hit the split log, lodging in until Sebastian braced a foot and yanked it out. Turning the small purple plum in her palm, Evelyn admired his forearms tensing as he lifted the axe again, skin taut over well-developed but not bulky muscles. Shame about the loose shirt he wore, but at least the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. She did like a well-turned forearm.

Voyeurism was inappropriate, but it didn't count if it was her betrothed.

Even if he was being bloody-minded about being betrothed, it would be an awful waste not to enjoy the remarkable view, since no one else had the right. He must have been at it for a while, as there was a sheen of sweat to the back of his neck when he straightened. There was also a certain clinging of the shirt to his lower back and broad shoulders when the axe was lifted again.

It might not have been a sin, but it felt enough like one to be appealing.

She waited until the axe impacted again with a noisy crack, splitting the log in half, before she spoke. “You know, I do believe shirts are optional when cutting firewood.”

Bent over, he started, and then laughed and released the axe, straightening up. She endured the sardonic look from below; his smile was genuine at least. Tucking the bitten side of the plum against her lower lip, she nipped off another piece. Chewing, she returned her elbow to the banister, turning the plum over in her fingers.

“Mountain air's a bit too bracing for that, Evie, even if it is warmer here. What are you doing up there? Playing my Florinda?”

“There's no morning glories in Haven, so I've nothing to toss you from my balcony,” she retorted, and then smirked, lips quirking to the side.

“Nothing at all?” He tilted his chin up towards her hand, stepping closer.

“Stealing my snack? How rude.” She tossed him the plum down regardless. He caught it in both hands, inclining his head graciously. She returned it, hiding a smile.

“Thank you, my Lady.”

“You're welcome, but I don't think I'll be your Florinda. I'm not interested in a Hugo. He would die of very dramatic feelings within an hour of our acquaintance because I said something sharp.”

When they were children they'd always shared fruit in the trees, a nostalgic familiarity about it. Usually, though, it had been a race, trying to keep from touching each other's bites while getting as much as possible. This time he stared down at the plum and turned it over until he found her bite, tucking his thumb into the edge of it.

“Well, such a man wouldn't deserve you.”

When he bit into the same place she had bitten, taking a bare crescent of the mottled purple skin, she raised an eyebrow. Unaccountably flustered and hopefully not flushed, she refused to leave his eyes as they fixed on hers. One would have presumed it was safer than letting her gaze wander to his mouth, but it was decidedly _not_. Blue should not be that warm.

It should not rouse that sort of warmth.

“And who are you to decide what I do not deserve?” she asked, voice quieter than she had meant it to be, but thankfully still under control. At least on the surface. Her stomach was tying it itself into some very pleasant knots.

“Decide? No, you're right. That is certainly not my place.”

“Then perhaps I want someone who will die dramatically over me. Will you throw yourself from a cliff for me, Sebastian?” When he stepped to the bottom of the landing and offered the plum back up to her, she pressed a single finger to the divot of the stem and pushed it back down to him. He smiled again, this time so friendly and open that she could have called the traitorous rush of sensuality mere moments ago a fabrication of her own mind.

“No, I don't think so, Evie, though there's no shortage of them here. I promised I would get this wood cut, I can't do that while dashed on the rocks.”

“But why?” she inquired, both curious and mocking. “Surely my forces are not so destitute that we require the Prince of Starkhaven to come cut our firewood.”

“It settles my mind to do work. It's how I would sort my thoughts when I served the Chantry,” he said, pausing and glancing up at her, swinging the axe over his shoulder. As she stared at him, he lifted the plum again and took another bite.

“Is something troubling you?” The words escaped unbidden, past all her barriers.

“Nothing I need burden your sweet heart with.” Before she could bristle and deny, he was speaking again. “How are the puppies?”

Sufficiently distracted, she heaved a sigh. The silly little whelps. She couldn't have every step followed by tumbling, troublesome little shadows.

“Missing us. Ach, if I'd only known what the dog lords know,” she joked, pushing up from the railing with a swift motion. “Who knew when they said a Mabari got attached they meant as an unweaned child to its mother. Silly little beasts. I only meant to keep her from missing her siblings, not make her miserable with my absence.”

As she stomped down the stairs, he found the bottom of them to meet her. His hand extended, but she avoided the solicitous reach, glancing upwards dismissively. “Go cut your firewood, Prince Vael.”

“Thank you for the plum, Evie.”

“It's only fruit. You could walk ten feet to the kitchen and get one yourself,” she called over her shoulder, tossing her head.

“Aye, but it tastes sweeter from your hand.”

When she spun around, her blank look was met by his back. Silenced, she watched as he jerked the axe back out of the stump, plum in his teeth. This time she didn't think she managed to keep the flush down, especially when he bent over to pick up one of the splits of firewood.

Maker save her from the bloody man.

She felt much safer admiring him when it was only forearms, though the muscled rear end definitely roused some curiously warm, twisty sensation. Instinct told her to flush and turn away, but that stubborn part that kept insisting that he was _hers_ and she had a bloody right kept her eyes fixed. Why should such a terrible man be so attractive? Why did some instinctive part of her keep trying to claim him despite her distaste for him?

Ripping her gaze away, she turned on her heel and just started walking. Where? Who knew. Evelyn just wanted to pretend she had somewhere to be.

She paused in her meandering as a road-weary contingent of soldiers came through the gate, mounted and bearing the stark scarlet heraldry of Starkhaven. Six horses, six men, nothing else. Was it a messenger? Had something gone wrong?

“Sebastian-”

Hands clasped her shoulders, and she started as Sebastian gently pushed past her and nudged her back, approaching the group. He moved with a quick, self-assured stride, quickly leaving her behind. Shaking her head, she scooped up her skirts and moved to follow, only to stall as she realized how thoroughly they were being observed.

Scouts appeared above on the bridge to the battlements. There were bows, strung and ready. A few figures appeared from the northern courtyard, blocking them in. A glance over her shoulder proved more scouts were appearing from within the keep. A figure at the gate. Nowhere to run. Sebastian approached them from the south, as the soldiers began to glance about themselves uneasily.

“Sebastian...”

“Don't worry, Evie. Everything's well in hand.”

“I would like to know what is going on.”

“Trust me, please.” His voice was firm and assured, possessed of a strength he rarely used, a confidence that had nothing to do with the boy she had known.

She should have been demanding to know what was afoot, but instead she found herself flustered as a girl asked to dance for the first time. It was very unbecoming for an Inquisitor. Staring at his back, she watched as he greeted the soldiers.

She was still close enough to hear.

“Your Highness! We were beset upon on the road! We barely escaped with our lives, they took everything.”

“Oh aye? But the Maker has blessed us with your safety,” Sebastian said, arms folding over his chest. “I am grateful to see you live. Bandits have grown so bold in this time of strife. Please. We should speak in private.”

She now realized there were more than a dozen of Leliana's people in the yard, and the bows that had been strung were now nocked, arrows ready. This was not a friendly conversation. It seemed she didn't quite know what was afoot.

“Prince Vael...” one of the soldiers said unsteadily.

“In private,” he repeated, immutable as stone, a simple statement made a commandment.

Maker, why did she find it so bloody attractive?

That was not at all appropriate.

Seeming to realize they had been outmaneuvered, the soldiers filed up the stairs, accompanied every step of the way by Leliana's scouts. It didn't escape her notice that it was _only_ Leliana's people who did so. It seemed she and Cullen had been left out of the loop.

Sebastian remained where he was, watching them as they passed into the great hall above. Evelyn had no illusions where they would end up. The dungeons were well renovated. She was both furious and confused all at once, twisted up together in a knot of irritation.

Stomping up, she shoved a palm into his lower back with a slap. Sebastian spun to face her, blinking down at her. His eyes were fathoms away.

“Do you not trust me?” she asked, leaning heavily into the brogue that would crop up whenever mother was furious.

“Oh aye,” he replied, smiling softly. “With my life. With my future.”

“But nae with your secrets.”

He chuckled quietly. “It's called delegation, my wild bramble-rose. You've enough burdens, don't try to take mine.”

How intolerable that he would use such inappropriate affections against her. “Don't speak to me so familiarly. I'll wear your guts for garters,” she threatened, jaw setting mulishly when he only smiled, seeming fonder than ever.

He leaned down towards her, smile small, ruddy hair just a bit tousled from his earlier exertions. “I can find you prettier things to wear. You have enough to tend to. Leave me to my business, I'll tell you of it over dinner tomorrow.”

“I didn't say I was having dinner with you,” she retorted, fighting the urge to fix his hair. His hand found her braid, winding it around his fingers. She regretted not pinning it up. She denied a single thought that implied she'd left it down for him.

“Then I'll have to tell my secrets to the pups, I suppose,” he said, smile remaining intact, though his eyes were distant. “Come, tomorrow is our last day before we set out, and I know you'll spend it fretting. We can discuss it then. At least we can spend tonight free from all the fears and strife.”

“Hmph,” she grumped, an odd melancholy rising. She averted her eyes, staring at the ground. “I'm not certain I know how.”

Sebastian sighed, slow and heavy. She watched with disapproval as he lifted her braid to his lips, kissed it, and then let it slide from his fingers. “We can try,” he said, taking a step back from her, space growing between them. “Go. Do something frivolous. You know I'll tell you, I'd never hide anything from you. I just want you to have a while without being burdened by it.”

“Are you safe?” The question slipped past her lips, her head tilting to the side as she glanced obliquely up at him.

He smiled, slow and fond, making her regret the question. Why did he have to be so infuriatingly affectionate? “Yes. Thank you for asking, Evie.”

“Go away,” she demanded at him, shoving violently until he turned with a laugh and made for the stairs.

She watched him go, worry following.

Leaning against the cold stone wall, arms crossed over his chest, Sebastian stared blankly, mind racing.

“There has been no change in their story, Prince Vael.”

Blinking, Sebastian snapped out of his daze, glancing up the hall to Leliana as she left the cell. It was locked behind her, and he nodded as he pushed off of the wall. “It couldn't have been as simple as some stolen books. That would have been too convenient.”

“It is still entirely possible Lady Ciara is the culprit, but it is also possible she is an unwitting pawn as well. We have dealt with Venatori agents infiltrating several times now, in Antiva, in Nevarra. The books you lost would be of great interest to them, and that would explain the descriptions given of the false bandits.”

“And me presuming Lady Ciara was thumbing her nose at me again would make for an easy target to blame it on,” Sebastian agreed tiredly. She paused at the head of the hall, and so did he, turning to face her again. “I believe the men. They were too quick to confess that they had been following orders to give up their goods and lie to me. I don't believe their orders came from Lady Ciara. It's simply too easy.”

“I agree. Tracking down where their orders came from will hopefully lead us to more information. It is good that you had a letter from her on hand. I can assure you that it was indeed forged, and not written by Lady Ciara's hand.”

“I couldn't tell the difference myself, but I suppose that's why I'm not a spy,” Sebastian said, reaching up and raking his fingers through his hair. “But she does have connections to Tevinter.”

“As do many people. Still, we cannot presume, Prince Vael, that this was only done to acquire the books. There is a chance that Starkhaven has been infiltrated by Venatori agents.”

Leliana's expectant stare weighed heavily on him, as did the uneasiness in his stomach, in his heart. She was correct. Which meant that he might have put Liam and his family in harm's way after all. He had no fear of Liam being corrupted by Tevinter magic, but all that meant was it wasn't his mind in danger, but his life.

“I need to speak to Evelyn.”

“I understand. I will have these orders tracked as quickly as I can. I have sent agents already to assess the situation in Starkhaven. I will have more information for you soon.”

“Thank you, Leliana. If your agents hadn't uncovered the truth, I might have never questioned any of this.”

Troubled, he turned to leave the dungeon, heart growing heavier by the moment. Had he been misled after all? Should he have never left? Or would his remaining behind only have put more in danger by not discovering that the plot was more complicated than it seemed?

Would he have been so easily duped?

As he emerged into the main hall, he realized the day had already waned. Moonlight beamed in through the windows, a few people sitting at a late dinner conversing in a quiet murmur. The far doors were open, and far more noise spilled from that direction, chatter and laughter. Curious, he headed towards it.

Emerging, he gazed down at the torch and moon-lit courtyard at a veritable crowd. They spilled out of the open tavern door, leaned over the battlements, crowded around but leaving wide open a circle where two people faced one another. Hawke and Evelyn. Fighting.

“Oh no,” he murmured fondly to himself, shaking his head and moving for the stairs.

The closer he grew, people moving out of his way, the clearer it became that this wasn't only a friendly spar. They both sounded quite cheerful, he wasn't concerned about that. But when he came close enough to catch sight of Hawke staggering past Evelyn and face-planting on the ground, he realized it was worse than he feared.

They were both thoroughly drunk.

“Get up!” Evelyn demanded, spinning around, shield up. Her skirt was tied up up past her muddy, reddened knees, one dripping blood down her bare calf. “I'm not done whippin' you, lass!”

“Hold on, hold on,” Hawke wheezed through helpless laughter, rolling onto her back. “Give me a hand.”

Predictably, Evelyn scowled and immediately stepped forward, shifting her shield to take Hawke's upturned hand. Which was, of course, a trap. Sebastian stifled a smile behind his hand.

Just as predictably, Hawke's foot hooked behind Evelyn's ankle and yanked her off balance. She went sprawling to the ground with a thud and a yelp of surprise, eyes wide. Hawke immediately started laughing hysterically, staggering to her feet with a sway.

“Never let your guard down!”

“Ya sneaksby! White-livered scoundrel!” Evelyn barked furiously, scrabbling to her feet.

“W-what?!” Hawke laughed, and then yelped loudly as Evelyn barreled into her, shield-first.

The amusingly drunken little fumble abruptly turned to a battle so furious it was almost unnerving. Laughter faded and murmured, awed conversation replaced it. He'd fought with both of them enough to not be surprised, but it was hard not to feel a bit of awe. They were both ferocious fighters.

Even drunk.

The training weapons were metal blunts, but even though Hawke's trousers were leather, neither of them were in armor. There were going to be nasty bruises. One particularly vicious impact of a long knife into Evelyn's ribs made him wince, doubly so when she responded by slamming her shield into Hawke's shoulder, sending her staggering back.

Glancing across the crowd, he caught sight of Fenris nearby, standing next to Cassandra. She looked utterly transfixed. Fenris lifted a hand to him in silent greeting, and he forged his way through the crowd to his side. The heavy clang of metal on metal continued, unabating.

“It's a tavern, they have glasses,” he informed Fenris, who glanced down at the bottle in his hand, and shrugged.

“It's called efficiency, Vael.”

“Someone is going to get seriously injured,” Cassandra said, eyes tracking the fight. “Shouldn't you interfere?”

Fenris and Sebastian shared a look, and laughed.

“No thank you, I value my life,” Fenris said dryly, taking a swig from his bottle of wine.

“This is how every Trevelyan family gathering ends.”

“They've been at it for a bit, they'll tire out soon.”

“If we ruined their fun they'd never forgive us,” Sebastian reasoned.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise.

Sebastian turned his attention back to the fight, which seemed to be continuing now not because of enthusiasm, but likely because neither wanted to yield. They were starting to move slower, and Hawke seemed to have taken a hit to the thigh that was hindering her. Evie, of course, wouldn't be the one to give up. Spars with her usually ended with either the other person submitting, or her being dragged out by her brothers.

Which was, predictably, what happened.

At first blink he didn't recognize Callum, who seemed to have gotten even bigger- if such a thing were possible. It was the beard that truly surprised Sebastian, though. Lady Dierdre despised facial hair. Cal ended the bout by the simple expedient of getting between them and lifting his hands.

“You're going to be on the road soon,” he rumbled.

“Oh! Oops!” Hawke laughed, chagrined, immediately straightening up and losing all the wariness in her posture. “I forgot about that!”

“Aye,” Evie said with more reluctance. She passed her blade and shield to Callum when he held his hands out for them, smile blossoming. “Thank you, Bear.”

Hawke stepped forward, hand outstretched. Evie met her with a nod, grasping her forearm with a heavy clasp.

“Good fight, Evelyn.”

“Yes, I agree. I forgive you, Hawke.”

Marian frowned, puzzled, and Sebastian did as well from his vantage point. Had they gotten into another fight he didn't know about? He'd thought they'd sorted things out.

“Great, but do I get to know what I did? I mean, I'm sure I did something, I'm me.”

“No, you don't need to know what you did, but you're forgiven,” Evelyn said loftily, releasing her arm and turning with a little stagger. “Now who's next?!”

Hawke started laughing hysterically.

“No, Evie,” Sebastian finally interjected over a few too-eager calls of agreement. He knew she'd heard him, because her expression immediately went sour. Scanning the crowd tipsily, she finally found him, jabbing a finger in his direction.

She was every inch the battle maiden, battered and disheveled and ready for more.

His virago.

“Fight me, Vael!”

“Absolutely not, Evie,” he called back over the laughter and jeering of the crowd. “Now if it's an archery competition you're after...”

“No, I'm looking for a _real_ fight, Prince Vael!”

“The bow is the wise man's weapon,” he recited placidly over the renewed laughter of the onlookers.

“Then what are you doin' with it?” Evie shouted at him, exactly as her brother had.

He endured the laughter with a smile, the little tableau a brief but welcome distraction from his unpleasant day. As people filtered back into the tavern, or off to other pursuits, he became exceedingly aware that there were eyes fixed on him penetratingly. Luckily not the Commander, but curiously enough it was Sera, standing under the shadow of the tavern, arms crossed over her chest.

When he met her eyes, she lifted her chin in a nod, and tilted her head in a beckon.

Curious, he approached.

“What can I do for you?” he inquired, tilting his head.

“It's not what you can do,” she replied with a flat expression. “You remember that letter? The one you copied.”

“Aye,” he agreed with a smile. “I suppose you've found me out, then, have you?”

“It's not _meant_ for people like you. It's about you, not _for_ you.” Her stare was hard, but not as much as he might expect.

“I realize that. You'll notice I only do favors these days, aye?” Sebastian smiled, ruefully. “It was misled youthful enthusiasm and family pressure, my brothers roped me into it. My parents liked to keep a thumb on the pulse of the nobility. I don't even know who the Red Jenny in Starkhaven is any more, but they still say there's three of them.”

“That's what I heard,” Sera said, thawing slightly. “So 'long as you mind your place...”

“I will.”

She nodded again, eyes reflecting lanternlight as she glanced down, reaching into a pouch. “Your people don't hate you, which is something. Better than some rich pricks.”

“That's always good to hear,” Sebastian said, and meant it.

“Others, not so much. Like this one.” She pulled out a slightly-crumpled letter, handing it over to him. “Copied, not original. Up to you if you believe it or not. Came off the desk of some merchant who can't keep his hands to himself.”

“Thank you, Sera.” He unfolded the smudged, somewhat poorly-written letter carefully, and scanned it.

E-

I hate this place. Jumped up holier than thou sheep botherers acting as if their Maker's light shines out of their asses. The plan failed. Too stubborn to listen. It might just be easier to remove the problems than convert them, so we're changing tactics. The Prince yet survives our friend says, but have faith, the enemy will fall and he with them.

Setting things up won't take more than two months, and then it'll be time for the push to send it all toppling. Be prepared for the signal, we're going to have a lot of goods to move out of this pit when it descends into chaos. Burn this letter.

-G

Absorbed in the letter, he started violently as it was snatched out of his hand. Blinking, he glanced down at Evelyn as she slumped into his side, scanning the letter. He was too troubled even be pleased that she was leaning against him.

“How long ago was that copied, do you know?”

Sera shrugged. “Few weeks, at least. Maybe a month?”

“Shit,” Evelyn cursed, letter crinkling in her hand as she jerked her head up to stare at him. “Sebastian...”

“Aye. Thank you, Sera. If you come across anything else-”

“Sure. Long as you keep up your friggin' end of it.”

“I will,” he agreed, waiting until she'd nodded, turned on her heel, and left before he focused on Evelyn. She was staring up at him intently, cheeks still flushed, hair tousled. “I think you're too tipsy for this conversation, Evie. In the morning?”

“No,” she said, predictably, giving him a small shove. “You promised you would not keep things from me.”

“There's very little to say just yet, Evie. Someone is trying to cause issues in Starkhaven. They forged orders from Lady Ciara Cullough and had a supply train robbed, presumably so I would think she was working against me. The 'bandits' had a mage with them, Leliana believes they may have been Venatori. And now this.”

Her face went pale, eyes wide and dark in the shadow of the tavern. Reaching for his shirt, she twisted a hand in it, eyes intent. “Sebastian. What about Liam? You promised me, Sebastian. You promised me he would be safe.”

“I- I know, Evie,” he said, stomach dropping as she stared at him. How could he have known he might be making Liam a target? So assured that the conflicts would never reach his city, that he could go haring off to follow Evie where she'd lead, he hadn't even considered it. “I won't fail you. I won't let him be harmed. Leliana's people are-”

“You have to go home,” she interrupted him, small and soft. “Sebastian, you have to go home.”

Sick. He felt positively ill, stomach twisted into miserable knots. “Evie, I made you a promise.”

“You've made me too many promises, Sebastian, and I _must_ insist. If I lose Liam- and Agnes? And the children?”

“We don't know that me returning won't make things worse, Evie. And we have the siege of Adamant to think of. I would be at your side.” He said it because he must, not because he believed it.

Evie lifted her chin, expression firm, voice soft but immutable as stone. “A single bow raised to my defense will not turn the tide of battle, Sebastian, but if Starkhaven has been infiltrated, she needs her Prince.”

He had already known, but needed her to say it. Letting out a slow sigh of defeat, he dropped his head and closed his eyes. Nodding slowly, regret and acceptance warred within him. She was right.

“I'll have an escort prepared for you to leave in the morning,” Evelyn said, voice quiet. Her hand was on his arm, gently holding onto his elbow. “We don't know what plots are being woven, and how far they have progressed. There is absolutely no time to waste.”

“I know. I only hate to leave you,” he admitted.

Expecting scoffing or something dismissive, he was surprised when her fingers tightened on his elbow and she insisted quietly, “I'm- there are things I haven't said, feelings I'm- irregardless of how I feel about what we have been through, _I_ made _you_ a promise. I gave you leave to court me. Distance will not change that. If you refuse to go, however...”

“You would be well within your rights to refuse me,” he agreed, feeling the choice inevitably taken out of his hands. It had been made. “The Commander-”

“Trust me. Please.”

“I do,” he said quietly, nodding his head. There was no choice, he simply had to put it from his mind and keep faith in her. “I trust you, Evie.”

“Maker, I'm too drunk for this,” she sighed, reaching up and untying her skirt, letting it untwist from around her legs and tumble back to her ankles. “We'd best make preparations before it's too late.”

Guilt rose. She'd looked so happy before, and now her face was drawn and distant, eyes weary. “I've ruined your evening.”

“Something always does,” she dismissed with a sigh, handing him back the crumpled letter at last. “Just keep my family alive. That's all I want from you, Sebastian. Go home, keep my family alive.”

“I will,” he promised her, setting aside regret and unease. They could be prayed over later, for now he had to protect his city, and her family. “I swear to you, Evie.”

“Yet another promise. I don't want any more of them, I just want you to _do_ it,” she mumbled, turning on her heel and stomping off across the moonlit yard.

Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he left behind the joyous noise of the tavern and went to his room to pack his things. Prayer did little to settle his mind- he knew his path was the right one. It wasn't that a decision needed to be made, it was that he felt as if he was abandoning her. Perhaps it was foolish to think Evelyn in any way needed him, that he had a purpose here at her side. Maybe she would be happier with him gone.

She hadn't shown even a moment of regret that he would be leaving.


	26. Farewell

Wan pre-dawn light filtered in from outside, a sleepy blue-tinged hue that would have normally called her from her bed. Evelyn had been up for hours. Normally when a night of drink woke her too early, she would down a pint of water and roll back over, but the instant her eyes were open her mind had started racing.

She hadn't been able to lie back down.

A plea to Liam to leave Starkhaven she knew would be ignored. She couldn't speak too openly about what Sebastian had uncovered, either, for who knew whose hands the letters would fall in? Still, she could write something, find a way to express her concern without outing herself. Agnes would listen.

“Are you all right, Poppy? The Revered Mother said you'd been down to pray long before dawn.”

Evelyn glanced up from the hasty letter she was preparing to go with Sebastian, blinking across the cavernous room at Callum. How hadn't she heard the door open? Her mind was a tired, muddled, hung-over mess, but she still should have heard him come in.

“I am- yes. Always one more crisis, isn't there?” she asked, voice a touch too high.

“Your color isn't good. When did you last eat?” His voice was patient, as he crossed the floor. Predictably, he went to the kettle to check it. A cup of tea to fix all ills.

“I just didn't sleep more than a couple of hours, there's preparations to be made,” she said dismissively, turning back to her letter. “I'll eat once Sebastian has left. Please don't fuss too much.”

“I'm surprised he's leaving.”

Scribbling away, she was barely listening, mind racing over all of their preparations. The fact that she couldn't go and handle this herself was wearing on her, a heavy sick feeling that was twisted up in all the things her muddled head wasn't up for sorting through right now. The soft clinking of the teapot being refilled made her nod appreciatively out of reflex, but it still took about ten more seconds before Callum's words managed to penetrate.

Blinking, she glanced up from her letter to Agnes. “Why?”

“He's always been a shirker is all.”

“People change, Cal, especially after a decade and time spent in the Chantry, as you would well know. He didn't protest, he took responsibility and is leaving immediately. No matter how upset I am, could I truly ask for more?”

“I'll admit people do change, aye,” he allowed slowly, setting the teapot down to steep. “I've been holding off on speaking to him for your sake, but now he's leaving. I'd like to have a chat with him. I wouldn't do it behind your back, so I thought I'd tell you first.”

Leaning back in her seat, leaving the letter to dry, she stared up into his face, their eyes meeting. Frowning, she crossed her arms under her chest. “What could you possibly have to talk to him about?”

Cal frowned. “Max is a bit upset with me. Claims I don't have a proper measure of the man, that I'm being stubborn and overprotective.”

“A Trevelyan? Stubborn?” she asked, and echoed the slow smile he gave her. “Well, I always did complain to you about him, so I suppose it's justified. You know Max has always forgiven all of Sebastian's flaws. Neither of you are unbiased, truth is probably somewhere in the middle.”

“Easy to forgive a man's flaws when you don't know the whole truth of what he'd done,” Cal said, in the same slow, ponderous rumble.

Her smile faded from the edges in, stomach dropping. Despite that, there was no surprise to be found in her mind, only a tired resignation. “You knew.”

“I notice things, Evie, it's what I do. And I knew him, and I knew how you felt about him. It wasn't the hardest thing in the world to figure out when you turned heel on your heart like that.”

“You didn't tell anyone?” she asked, embarrassed shame rising despite her mind telling her she had no reason to feel it. Relief warred with the self-recrimination when he shook his head. “I was a silly besotted fool, and I thought that maybe...maybe things would be better if I- I was a little fool. I think I hoped it would fix things. There were other reasons, but I doubt you want to hear them.”

“He didn't hurt you?”

“Only my hopeful wee heart,” she laughed, dropping her head. “Maker. Cal, please don't think less of me for it.”

“I never did, hedgehog. Just him.”

She sighed through her nose, accepting the cup of tea he poured her. The slight shake of her hands from lack of sleep, food, and an overindulgence of alcohol made the cup slosh. She set it down before she burned herself. “He was hurting, too. We've spoken over it, and I understand now. I'm surprised you didn't break his head.”

“Angus and Alan stopped me,” Cal admitted, pouring himself a cup of tea as well. “I couldn't tell them why without giving you away, so I didn't.”

Despite the discomfort of the conversation, that made her smile. Then again, her shame and embarrassment were much less than she would have anticipated. Much like the story of Sebastian's proposal. How shocking, admitting things instead of hoarding them inside of her actually made them easier to say.

She couldn't have this talk with Maximilian, though, it'd break his heart that he didn't know.

“Always defending me,” she sighed, picking up the tea more carefully and taking a sip. It was a bit weak on the second steep, but it still helped. “What can I say, Cal? I was an idiot in love with a boy who despised that I was being pushed on him. A boy that didn't even like me.”

“You're not marrying him because of-”

The tired, exasperated look she turned up to Cal made him chuckle. The sound roused a small, humorless smile from her. “Maker, no. I love you very much, Bear, but let's save that sort of sentiment for silly novels. I'm not a bloody ruined woman that has to fix my honor by wedding the man who bedded me.”

He turned bright red above his gingery beard, and she hid an amused smile. “There's no need to say it so bluntly. It's difficult enough to bring up...things like this with my wee sister.”

Evelyn sighed. Would it bother her if they discussed it? Nothing apart from some prickling of her pride, which was too strong anyways. “Bear, if you feel the need to have it out with him, aye, you have my blessing. If I'm to marry him, he'll be family, and I'd not have resentment or anger between you two. I trust you.”

“Have you forgiven him, Poppy?”

“No,” she laughed quietly, reaching for her tea again, praying it would settle her head and stomach. “I don't forgive, Cal, you know that. Betrayal stays with me.”

“You don't sound as if you think he betrayed you, Poppy.”

Stalling, she glanced sidelong and up into his face. He looked as solemn and composed as ever, apart from the concerned furrow of his forehead. For all her flippancy with the earlier conversation, for some reason this one caught in her throat. It always did, first with Sebastian, then with Cullen, and with every other man who had pretended they cared about her when all they wanted was to get close to her for other reasons.

It was the hurt of a little girl who had thought Sebastian had been her very best friend in the whole world, and had built her future castles in the sky knowing they would never crash to the ground.

Until they had.

“He did.”

“Is there something I don't know, Evelyn?”

“Never you mind, Bear,” she assured him softly, with a small, sad smile. “He hasn't betrayed me any more than any other man has, and every man after him did. But the first time always hurts the worst. Especially having believed in a lie for so long.”

“Because he didn't love you?” Cal asked quietly.

A scoff escaped her, small and tired. “Love? Oh, no. It's because he didn't _like_ me. But then again, who would?”

Normally she never would have said it, especially to Cal, but she was simply so tired and slodgy that it slipped out. The soft rattle of his teacup being set down made her turn away, exhaution leaving her too raw. Still, when he took her limp hand she let him, but couldn't face him.

“I don't care for you saying things like that.”

“Then I won't say them,” she sighed.

“I don't care for you _believing_ things like that, Poppy,” Cal replied, a bit more firmly.

“I'm just exhausted,” she lied. “Let it be, Cal. Thank you for coming to me first and speaking with me. I'm just sorry you had to carry my secret all those years.”

“I've carried plenty of your secrets over the years, Poppy,” Cal reminded her tolerantly, thankfully letting it drop. He always did, he never pushed her. “I wish you would talk to Max about it. He needs to know the true measure of the man if he's going to defend him so vociferously.”

“I've kept it from him for far too long. Besides, I don't believe that the things he did when we were young _are_ the measure of the man he is now,” she said, forcing a smile at the squeeze of her hand.

“And yet you still refuse to let them go.”

Not certain what to say to that, she accepted the kiss on the top of her head and the refill of her tea before Callum left. Left alone, she abandoned her letters and went out to stand on the balcony, hoping the cool air would do something to clear her head. The sun rose over the mountains, blue fading to rose and gold, and then even more brilliant hues.

It was beautiful, but an exhaustion of the soul left her too empty for it to strike her heart.

She was happy that he was leaving.

Wasn't she?

There were plaques on the wall now in what passed for the Skyhold Chantry, names inscribed.

Once he'd promised Evelyn to remember the names of the fallen, and while he was only a man whose mind could not hope to hold them all, he would still come and read. There was one here now that there hadn't been before. He recognized Evelyn's hand instantly.

_Dinah Trevelyan_

She'd made a plaque for her cousin at last. Sebastian could only hope that meant she was on her way to forgiving herself. He'd hated that self-recrimination, the inability to move on from what she perceived as her own failures- right or wrong. There was so much weight on her shoulders, and she seemed determined to only add to it, never release any burdens.

And now he was leaving her alone with them.

Well, not alone. She had people around her, brothers with her, and he couldn't be so arrogant as to claim she needed him as well, but still in his heart it felt as if he were abandoning her. It had been so welcome to see her happy and free last night, even so briefly. Evie had such a beautiful smile.

A shadow in the doorway loomed over him, drawing his attention away from the memorial wall.

“Vael.”

Turning slowly, he tilted his head up to meet Callum's eyes, calm and unreadable as he remembered them being, apart from moments of rage. “Brother Callum.”

“I'm not going to crack your skull, you can still call me Cal,” he retorted, the low bass rumble of his voice seeming to fill the space despite the lack of volume. “Come sit with me. I asked Evie if I mightn't have a word with you, she said aye.”

“We needed Evie's permission to speak?” he asked, puzzled. Still, it'd be a relief to have proper words, especially since the last word he'd had from the man was a threat. Well, most of the words they'd had since Sebastian was about fourteen had been threats, Cal not being terribly talkative in the first place.

“We need Evie's permission to speak about her, aye, for she's a grown woman and I'd not stick my nose in her business without her say-so.”

“I suppose things change,” Sebastian allowed, and wasn't surprised that it got him a long, inscrutable look as they paced out into the garden together.

“And I'm supposing that's a fair statement, if a bit pert for the moment, Vael.”

“Well, you make me nervous, Cal. You always have.”

With a faint 'hmph', the giant of a man settled down on one of the benches, clasping his knees with ink-stained fingers. Sebastian settled next to him, eyes turning up towards the early morning-lit sky. It was going to be a fine day. Good for travel.

“I told you it once before, and I'll say it again because it's still true. I don't care who you are, what titles you hold, or how rich you are. As far as I'm concerned, character is all that matters, aye?”

“At least this time I've not been slammed into a stone wall. Aye, Cal. I understand.”

“We liked each other once. Even though I never liked how jealous you were of my sister's attention- even when you were wee things- I still liked you fine. I think you ripened rotten. But I suppose a man is a different sort of creature, and the Maker has given us hope of redemption and grace,” Cal said slowly, each word drawn out with a ponderous, thoughtful cadence that invited one to listen and absorb.

There was no point in being offended. Evie's brothers were all protective of her, but Cal had always been doubly so. Maybe more. “I have worked very hard to try and become the man I was so late to becoming.”

“The hurts you left her with were wounds that infected. I've always blamed myself for not noticing, but Evelyn hides her wounds. I'm certain there's some fault there that could be laid at our feet. Mother prayed a long time for our Evelyn, and there was a great deal waiting for her the moment she was born. She's always felt duty and expectation very keenly.”

“Aye,” he agreed quietly, acknowledging the truth of it. “I was surprised when I found out she'd never married.”

Callum snorted quietly. “And what would you expect, when she'd spent her entire life building a future in her heart that you stole from her?”

Sebastian winced, dropping his head. The words pricked at his own guilt, at the things he'd said so much to himself. The reason he'd been so afraid to face her before he sent suit. Still, Callum was speaking as if Evie was blameless in everything, a victim and nothing more. As much as he admitted his own faults and choices, he couldn't act as if she had no part to play in her own life. “She's a woman now, Cal. Not a little girl. I may have hurt her, but I didn't make her refuse every other man. You and I both know that no one controls Evelyn Trevelyan.”

There was a quiet, thoughtful noise, and Callum reached up and scratched at his beard. The silence between them stretched until he began nodding, slowly. “I'll give you that, Vael. The reason Evelyn never married is because she never gave anyone else a chance.”

“What do you mean?” Sebastian asked, guarded. This seemed a bit inappropriate to discuss behind Evie's back, but he should at least listen. He didn't have to comment himself.

“Just that. Aye, some of the men that made suit to my wee sister were inappropriate in their affections, or too abrupt, or even insincere. Most of them were. But I watched her once back a good man- a distant cousin of ours that even our Mother liked for her- into a corner and demand to know his intentions within a day of their visit. When he admitted he found her beautiful and would have liked to pay her court, she accused him of being 'just like the rest' and some rather less kind words. She refused to speak to him again. It wasn't the only time such happened.”

“Well, she knows her own mind,” Sebastian said, still uneasy with this conversation. It certainly sounded like Evie, but he wasn't quite certain what Cal was trying to get at.

“But she doesn't know her heart. I don't like that she's giving you a second chance when she wouldn't give better men a first, like the Commander,” Cal said, letting a small sigh through his nose, head shaking slowly. “It seems a terrible shame.”

Sebastian hid a wince. “All I can do is try to be worthy of it.”

Cal pinned him with an intent, dark stare. “No, that isn't all you can do. Max says you've sworn to win her friendship, not only her hand?”

“Aye.”

“Then I want you to swear to me, Sebastian. Swear to me that not only will you not marry my sister until you've won her friendship, but you will not marry her until _she_ believes in the truth of _yours_. For that is the far more difficult thing for my sister, to believe a man sees value in her as a friend.”

“I'll swear that to you, Cal, aye,” Sebastian agreed, giving a slow nod of his head. “But I can't promise I won't tell her that I have. I said I wouldn't hide anything from her.”

“I have no issue with that. Good luck on your journey. Don't let any harm befall my family, or there'll be no saving you from Evelyn.” Cal slapped his hands down on his thighs and rose, letting out a long, slow sigh. “I'll pray for you.”

Only Callum could make a calm, even statement sound like a threat.

He could worry over it later.

A journey awaited him.

Evelyn found Sebastian loading his bags onto his patient white mare, expression faraway.

As she approached out of the corner of his vision he glanced up, and the tension at the corners of his eyes faded, replaced by a slow smile. Evelyn didn't return it. There was a strange coldness to her chest yet, the blankness that had enveloped her a stone wall between them.

“Will you?” she asked, offering the small parcel of letters to him. “They're just to the family.”

“Aye. I fear a stop in Ostwick isn't possible, but I'll see if your father would like to travel to Halamshiral together,” Sebastian said.

Evelyn pursed her lips, passing the letters into his expectant hands, waiting until he turned his back to pack them. Staring at the back of his head, she spoke, clipped. “You still plan to go?”

“I hope. I've almost two months. I'll do everything I can. I'd like to see you, at least.”

“That's a poor reason for such a long trip,” she said, words still coming out stiff and unfriendly.

“There are other, more political reasons. Boring, trade-related ones,” he said with a small chuckle, turning back to face her. Some of his smile died, but it remained in his eyes. “Evie, I-”

“While you're back in Starkhaven you should handle the posting of the marriage banns,” she interrupted, before he could say anything prying or sentimental. “I know you sent out the betrothal notice, but the banns must be done as well. We've no excuse to ignore tradition, no matter how unsteady the Chantry is right now.”

His smile warmed again. “Yes, my Lady.”

“Don't be a fool on the road. If bandits attack, let the men handle it.”

“I can defend myself, Evie,” he said, quietly tolerant.

She resisted saying something sharp, though her heart was clamoring at her to do so. Instead she shook her head, voice quiet and firm. “You're too important to risk.”

“Says the woman who is the only hope of Thedas, and yet fights drunken battles with no armor on,” Sebastian said, the fondness in his voice making her bristle.

There was a very unpleasant sensation rising that seemed to be putting a venomous edge on her tongue. She practically had to bite it to still it. Ignoring the slight shift of his posture that leaned in towards her, she glanced down and to the side, jaw practically trembling as she clenched her teeth together.

“I'm going to miss you,” he told her, voice warming at her irritated exhale. “Well, I will.”

For some reason she couldn't smile for him, couldn't ease the knot in her stomach. Despite all efforts the poison escaped her, desperate to have him away at last so this harsh discomfort would ease. “There's no need to lie and pretend at sentiment, Sebastian. Be on your way.”

Puzzled, he tilted his head and gazed down at her, a step too close. Evelyn refused to meet his eyes, chin lifting. She stared blindly off at the courtyard, watching the blur of motion with her eyes unfocused.

She could practically feel her teeth creaking as she clamped her jaw shut.

The catch in his voice made it all worse. “That's the farewell we're to have, Evie? 'Be on your way'?”

“I can't imagine what sort of farewell you believe you're entitled to. You've been exceedingly familiar as of late, and you've taken enough liberties, don't you think?”

“I was under the impression that the familiarity was mutual,” he said slowly, the hurt in his voice only making her pull further away, colder, more remote. “What's brought this about now, Evie?”

“Maybe I'm just relieved to have you finally gone. The burden of your presence has worn on me long enough,” she said icily, shaking her head and taking a step back. “Goodbye, Sebastian.”

There was a long silence, stretching out between them as the weight in her stomach turned leaden. Soon it would make her ill, but for now it kept her spine straight. Her arms folded to keep her from touching her as he reached out. She'd pinned her hair up today. Seconds passed, and his hand dropped.

Sebastian sighed.

“Goodbye, Evie,” he said quietly.

She stared at nothing as leather creaked, scale jingled softly, and his horse gave a soft huff of breath. When he was mounted, he waited again. She stood in stubborn silence until he finally began to ride away.

Eyes snapping back into focus, she finally looked up as the last of his escort filed through the gate and he followed. He didn't glance back at her. Finally the shield inside of her cracked, and all of the tumultuous, confusing emotions that she'd been holding behind it spilled out. Nausea, guilt, shame, and hurt that she couldn't bear to admit were there. The truth hit her with a wave of guilt, undeniable and pitiful.

She didn't want him to go.

It shattered her, broke through the ice, and the tears began spilling as a hand clasped her mouth to stifle any sound. What a fool she was. Too ashamed to admit, too cowardly for truth, she'd taken it out on him again instead of being honest. How could she? How could she leave things between them so vile and cruel?

One step, two, and she was stumbling towards the gate. No, no, it couldn't end like this.

He was leaving.

He was leaving, and her being _horrible_ was the last thing he'd remember.

“Sebastian!”

The cry echoed, and she knew she was making a spectacle of herself, but panic didn't care. She couldn't let that be her farewell, couldn't have him gone thinking that she hated him. Grasping her skirt in both hands, she bolted after him, through the gate and onto the great stone bridge. Her vision blurred, the distant blobs growing further away. He was going away again.

The thin soles of her slippers made every impact hard and heavy, the cold stone seeping through. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, breath a struggle, and he was pulling further ahead by the moment. She had to stop him. She _had_ to.

Desperation forced every ounce of air she could gasp into a panicked, heartbroken shout.

“Sebastian Vael, don't you _dare_ leave me like this!”

The white mare paused, turned, barely seen as she ran desperately towards him in a stumbling run. Her skirts were twisted around her knees, clumsying her, and she jerked on them violently as she flew towards him. She had to keep going.

He was coming closer instead of going away now, cold mountain wind whistling past her. Her chest was caught in a vice, a stitch in her side, but she couldn't slow. If she did he might be gone. Out of the blur his figure emerged, still atop his horse, but waiting.

When she made it to him she was stumbling, and he barely dismounted in time to catch her, an arm around her waist as she tumbled against his chest, wheezing for breath.

“Evie, what-”

Rather than answer, she reached up for him before he could leave her. Fingers curled in against his jaw, his cheeks, pinning him. On her toes, she pulled him down demandingly, and her lips met his with all of the confusing desperation in her heart.

She kissed him.

It was too short, fierce, lack of air making her light-headed and forcing her to break it almost before it'd begun, his lips still lax with shock when she tore away. Evelyn stared up at him, gasping for air, eyes fixed on his. She watched with her heart in her throat as the piercing blue softened, and then warmed, the arm around her waist tightening. Her hands were still on his cheeks, curling against the strong line of his jaw.

“Evie...” His voice was so quiet.

“I'm sorry,” she replied in a breathless stumble, ashamed of the tears that stained her exertion-flushed cheeks. “I'm sorry, I didn't want you to go thinking that's what I thought. Or felt. I don't know how I feel. Or- or- I don't know, I'm so lost...”

“It's all right. Hush now,” Sebastian reassured her softly, a gloved thumb running down her cheek, wiping away the tears.

She stared up into his face, searching it for hope and reassurance. His smile was gentle, so easily forgiving her stubborn stupidity. Of course he would. But if she couldn't fix this bitter cruelty that seemed to come so easily to her, some day he might not any more. That idea terrified her.

When things had changed, she wasn't certain, but they had.

She didn't hate him any more.

“I cannot ask for forgiveness when I do not give it, but-”

“You already were. I'm sorry I have to leave. I don't want to leave you. I don't want to hurt you.”

The shame shriveled in on itself, a few more tears escaping, blurring her eyes again. She was such a fool, such a stupid, silly stubborn fool. Punishing him because she couldn't deal with admitting that she was sorry to see him go.

“I'm hurting myself, it isn't you,” she said quietly, choked. “It doesn't make any sense how I feel, it isn't as if I care-”

“Evie, would you please let me have this tiny victory without ruining it?” He asked with quiet humor in his voice. When she reflexively rolled her watery eyes, he laughed quietly. “I'm sorry to go.”

“We have our duties, and I couldn't respect a man who would shirk them,” she said, fighting back a sniffle as he wiped her other cheek, gentle despite the thick leather of his armor. “I'll see you in two months. The Maker will keep you safe until then, I believe it.”

Thumb tucked against her jaw, rubbing lightly, his hand curved against her neck and pressed her forehead to his. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh that bore with it a heavy weight, releasing her at long last. Safe, secure, he held her.

“I'll make you proud of me, Evie. I couldn't be prouder of you, you're the most incredible woman I've ever known. Am I allowed to ask for a kiss goodbye?”

“Well, I've already made a ridiculous scene, I suppose it can't get worse,” she croaked, all too aware of how many people were likely watching from the battlements. He laughed quietly, and she smiled, eyes still closed.

“You can't just say 'yes', can you my virago?” he teased her.

Whatever answer she might have made was silenced by his lips, a slow, sweet caress. Restrained and gentle, it was more promise than passion, but it was the comfort she needed right now. Reassured, she stopped clutching desperately him and let her arms wind around his neck, banishing the last of the distance between them.

He gently broke the kiss with a caress of his thumb on her cheek that she leaned into, eyes opening at last. Finally his smile she felt safe enough to echo, leaning up and kissing the tip of his nose with its arrogant curve she'd always admired. He laughed and kissed the last of the tears from her cheeks, finally forcing her to pull back and avert her eyes, feeling the warmth of a flush.

“That memory will bear me through any trial. Maker watch over you, Evie, and Andraste guide you towards the Light.”

Warmth turned regretful, but soft and wistful and not painful. “And you, Sebastian. Thank you for doing this, I know it isn't easy.”

“Perhaps I need to prove to myself as much as you that I'm the sort of man who would. Until we meet again, sweetheart.” His grip shifted, and he lifted his chin to press a kiss to her forehead.

Reluctantly she let the embrace end at last, not wanting to ruin the goodbye by fussing at him over the endearment. She'd already ruined it once. Evelyn wrapped her arms around herself, watching as he mounted his horse again with a deft, practiced movement. There was a pause as their eyes met, and she gave him a firm, confident nod. He echoed the motion, and urged his horse around.

The clatter of hooves on stone slowly faded away, but she remained, watching until they turned to head down the incline that led to the river. Sebastian glanced back once and lifted a hand in farewell. She returned it.

When they disappeared completely, she turned on a heel and began pacing back with more dignity than her hurried, panicked flight out to stop him. Evelyn pretended she didn't notice the heads popping back over the battlements. It wasn't as if she could tell who was who at this distance.

She should have felt ashamed for her fit of dramatics, but her heart was at ease.


	27. Unspoken and Unspeakable Things

~~Prince Vael,~~

~~Dear S~~

~~Infuriating pain in my arse,~~

Sebastian,

I'm going to throw out this letter anyways, so what does it matter what I call you? Why am I writing you when you left this morning? I don't know. I'm very confused. Also still very tired.

~~Cassandra says it was romantic, but I don't feel romantic,~~ I feel silly.

I don't know what to say.

I know we agreed we wouldn't split up the pups, but she's going to miss you. She's going to miss you terribly.

I should sleep. I need to go speak to Cullen, though, and I'm nervous. ~~I made such a fool of myself~~. Maybe I'm writing this so I don't have to go speak to him. That's cowardly. I'm not a coward. I'll go do it, ~~though it would be easier with you here.~~

Don't die.

I remain,

Evelyn

I remain Evelyn? Who else would I bloody well be? That's the stupidest thing that's ever been written. Into the fire with you, letter, lest Max find it and send it in a fit of mischief. Maker save me from myself.

Frowning to herself, Evelyn watched the letter curl in on itself and blacken, lifting her mug of water for a sip. It slowly turned to ash, twisting to show a scribbled line of ink, furiously blacked over. Her head was as clear as it was going to be until she had a proper sleep, headache long gone, stomach settled. The embarrassingly pleasant feelings that had buoyed her through the stressful day were fading.

In the morning they would ride for the siege of Adamant. She had to stop being a foolish girl and start being a leader- she couldn't hide from the bloody man. Evelyn could admit she'd overreacted. She hadn't needed to shout such mortifying things at him and storm off, even if he had managed to pinpoint such a sore point.

Evelyn would apologize.

Steeling herself, she paused at the mirror to pin her braids and splash her face, noting with distaste that she still looked too pale, freckles standing out starkly, dark circles under her eyes. Well, a good rest would take care of it. Deal with preparations, then straight to bed.

As she turned for the stairs, predictably the puppies awoke, scrambling sleepily awake and stumbling after her. Evelyn paused with a sigh, turning back as Sebastian's brindle nearly went tumbling down the stairs. Scooping them both up into her arms, she turned to head down, shaking her head.

“You're going to bash your little heads in,” she scolded, enduring being licked all over her chin by the wee runt. “I cannot be expected to carry you two up and down every bloody set of stairs. You are aware of that, aren't you?”

Her only response was happy wriggling and little puppy noises.

Resigned to being a servant to a pair of very spoiled little girls, and still feeling some guilt that Sebastian's little shadow was going to be left without him for quite some time, she bore them in her arms until they reached the battlements. With the pups cavorting around her ankles, dodging in and out of her skirts, she made her way to the Commander's office with as much dignity as one could have with whispers and knowing looks surrounding them.

She'd been such a silly goose this morning.

The memory brought a faint smile to her lips.

That gentle smile faded as she approached the Commander's door, a bare sliver of light peeking out. Steeling herself, she inhaled a slow breath and stepped forward, pushing both palms against the door. It creaked open, and she slipped in as soon as it was wide enough for her.

She tried to stifle the dismay that he was there. It was cowardly.

Cullen stood leaning over his desk, hands braced to either side of a wooden box. When she entered, he glanced up, and then let out a faint breath and let his head drop. A few seconds of awkward silence passed, punctuated by the puppies' demands for attention from her.

“I'm sorry.”

“I apologize.”

Her words tumbled over his, in the same instant. Another pause, but this time the silence was broken by his chuckle and her slow, amused exhale. The tension in the air eased.

“I was wildly inappropriate,” she admitted quietly.

“ _You_ were?” The disbelief in his voice made her smile wryly. “I was the one who-”

“I was the one who confronted you, I'll remind you. I shouldn't have been so aggressive,” she interrupted, still keeping the distance between them. “I have a lot of...history that makes me take such things poorly.”

“And I was inappropriate as well. Your betrothal is none of my concern, Inquisitor.”

His voice was kind, if tired, but the return to formality hurt her. But what right did she have to complain? This was likely the most appropriate outcome. Distance and politeness, giving him space to clear the brief infatuation from his mind.

She could not demand he give up what formality he required for his comfort, it would be cruel and selfish.

“I, ahm- I was told you might need to speak with me.”

Cullen nodded. “About our departure? Yes, I-”

“No,” she interrupted quietly. “I was told that as the leader it was- that something was troubling you, and as Inquisitor I should speak to you. Cal told me.”

“Cal- oh, do you mean the Chantry historian, Brother Callum? I was only- I wasn't aware you were acquainted.” He didn't seem offended, just thoughtful.

There was a pause between them again, and despite all efforts to remain solemn, a smile cracked through. She lifted a hand, and gestured to her face. “Take a moment to look at me, Commander, and then think about that again. The freckles and hair, at least, though he's got father's nose. Yes, we're acquainted.”

He peered at her for a moment, forehead furrowed, and then understanding finally dawned. Dropping his head, he gave a long sigh. With his gaze averted, Evelyn finally smiled.

“The Brother is your brother.”

“The Brother is my brother,” she agreed, watching the puppies tussle out of the corner of her vision. “I have a lot of them, it happens. To be fair, the resemblance is easier to see when he hasn't got such a hairy face.”

“He didn't tell you...”

“No, just that I should speak with you,” she assured. When he turned around the box sitting on his desk, gesturing towards it, she took a step closer. She recognized the contents. “That's for lyrium, isn't it?”

“I was going to speak with you about it regardless. I suppose now is likely the best time.”

“Is it about our lyrium supplies? Are they insufficient?” she inquired carefully.

“I- no. You know that I was a Templar, but how much do you know of what lyrium _does_?” he asked quietly.

“I know that it is what gives Templars their abilities.”

“And when they are cut off from it?”

Frowning, she shook her head slowly. “I cannot say that I do.”

“They...suffer. Some go mad, others die,” he said slowly, leaning forward again, eyes averted downward. He paused for a long moment in silence, staring at the desk. Finally he swallowed, and admitted, “I no longer take it.”

“You stopped?” she asked, stalling in shock. If what he was saying was true, then the side effects- the danger he was risking- why wouldn't he have consulted with her before?

“When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now.”

Then this was not a new development. She reflexively stepped closer at last, moving to the other side of the desk. “Cullen, if what you're telling me is true- are you well? Are you in pain? Is there something that can be done to-”

He interrupted her, but gently. “Whatever the suffering, I accept it. But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I've asked Cassandra to...watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved of duty.”

It was obvious he'd thought this over thoroughly. Far be it for her to argue with him. Letting out a long sigh through her nose, Evelyn stared at him until he tilted his lowered head to the side and obliquely met her eyes.

“It is your risk, and your choice to make. You were wise to take precautions, and I agree that Cassandra is a good choice. Nevertheless...is there anything that can be done to ease the pain?”

“I will endure it.” The firm note of his voice brooked no argument.

Evelyn let out a slow sigh, nodding her head. It wasn't her place to bicker with him over his choices. After what they had been through, seen with the Templars and the red lyrium, she couldn't fault him for not wanting to be bound to any of it. “Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry if you felt you couldn't come to me before.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I regret the complications. Quite honestly, Evelyn, I wasn't going to say anything. Not about this, but Vael. It just seemed incredibly obvious that you despised the man and, well...Maker, I sound like an idiot.”

“No! That's actually quite fair. It's-” She paused, trying to find a way to explain that didn't make her sound like an utter monster. Their nearly disastrous farewell was still in her mind. “I've known Sebastian my entire life. Our fathers were dear friends. Ostwick and Starkhaven aren't so close, but we'd see each other for months in the summer and a week now and again during the year. By the time I was seven we'd decided we were going to married.”

“So young?” he asked quietly.

“Aye, at least we'd decided as much as children ever do. That didn't mean we were harmonious little brats, though. We fought like cats in a sack. He was always utter mischief when we were children, but no matter how we fought we always made up so sweetly. I suppose it feels safe even now to let out my temper on him, and I can be very ungracious when I do. That's really all it is. Old habits and my poor manners.”

There was of course so much more to it, but it wasn't appropriate at all to confess her past with Sebastian to Cullen. At worst she'd sound like a complainer, and at best as if she were trying to garner his sympathy because she wanted to string him on. Which she did not, at all.

Evelyn admired Cullen very much, and while he'd proven to not be her friend, he was still her Commander. He was a man, and a handsome one at that, but she could not even now claim she had any feelings towards him that were more than friendly. It would be inappropriate to even consider it in private.

“I was eight, myself.”

“Hmm?” She glanced up from the table.

“When I'd decided what the rest of my life would look like. When I decided I would be a Templar,” Cullen said, with a faint smile. “Things rarely work out as we intend. But for a time, for me, they did. Or at least I thought they had.”

“With so much faith in your path, it must have been very difficult to have felt so betrayed by your Commander.”

“It must have been difficult to feel so betrayed by the man you were meant to marry,” he countered.

“I hang onto betrayals longer than most, I am told,” she allowed quietly, ducking her head with a faint smile. “It was. It embittered me quite thoroughly, but oh- aren't children always rather dramatic at sixteen?”

“I suppose they are,” Cullen chuckled. “Well, I'm happy to have found a new path. The Inquisition _must_ succeed.”

“I agree,” she said firmly, comforted to have found that common ground. “No matter what, we must succeed in stopping Corypheus and putting the world to rights. Adamant. We should discuss it, should we not?”

“Yes. But...are you?”

“Am I what?” she asked, glancing up again.

“Happy. To have found your way back to the path you thought your life was meant to take, instead of having to forge a new one,” he said, eyes fixed down on the table, and not on her. His voice was casual, but the question was anything but.

“I am-” she stalled, caught between lying and the inappropriateness of telling the truth. After a moment, she decided that rather than admitting she had never even stopped to think about that, she decided that the lie was kinder. Forgivable. “Yes, I am happy. It's all I ever wanted.”

“Then I am happy for you, Inquisitor.”

It didn't escape her notice that he didn't say her name.

Keeping her smile in place, she turned her attention to the battle plans.

Dear Evelyn,

I'm going to write you every day. You're going to be annoyed with that, and I regret that I'm not there to enjoy your irritation, but I'll imagine it. We're making good time, and I expect we shall as long as we're on the Imperial Highway, provided Orlais doesn't break out in any more skirmishes. We're going to take it up to the Nevarran border and then meet one of my river vessels for the trip home, it's the fastest way.

Sadly that means no visits to Ostwick, as I suspected. I was hoping it might be more expedient to take to the Waking Sea and find a ship to your family's home port, but no such luck. This time of year overland is faster. I received word from the Kirkwall efforts, and I'm sorry to say that the statues in the Gallows did not survive the cleansing, as we thought they might not.

I know you'll likely get this letter after you and Hawke have parted ways, but if not, please do tender my regrets. I'll try to get it sent to where I anticipate you'll be. It'll either meet you, or miss you entirely and get to you after the next letter. That's the price we pay.

As soon as I get home I'll fix the supply issues so that our proper tithe can come to the Inquisition. I'll try not to enclose too many things for you. Indulge me at least a little, it helps.

I need to look into the state of the summer palace, it shouldn't sit empty too long, but I haven't seen any need to use it yet- there's been so much to do over the past few years. There's still servants there, of course, and the steward, but he's getting on in years and I'd like to have it ready for when all of this is over. It'd be nice to spend some time with so many fond memories.

Do you prefer to keep things the same for tradition's sake, or do you enjoy redecorating, making things your own?

I realize this will likely reach you after the siege, but I have faith that everything will go well. Just know that while I may not be fighting beside you, my prayers go with you. If you don't write me back, the letters will just get longer and longer and more sentimental. You'll leave me no choice.

In faith and hope, I remain,

The thorn in your side,

Sebastian

It had been hours since Evelyn had seen anyone, but she knew how the letter had found her pillow.

Reading it over for the third time, she stared until the words began to swim. Tears. She'd thought that her capacity for them had somehow been removed, a profound dark silence having overtaken her mind and heart. The letter was so cheerful and ordinary that it hurt.

She could hear the voices, people discussing her but not bothering her. They kept walking by. Worried. Max was so worried, but she couldn't possibly tell him, make him understand. She'd see him soon, once she was able to put a brave face back on.

Solas and Blackwall understood. Hawke understood. She simply didn't have any capacity right now to discuss, to confront those who knew what had been uncovered within her. Worse than truth, more painful than lies. The dark thoughts inside her.

Fear.

She'd heard Cullen once, worried and loud, trying to push past the wall she'd built around herself, but he hadn't made it through. They'd given her a room in Griffon Wing Keep, and she'd sealed it closed. No one was getting in unless she wanted them.

Another drink would dull the pain.

“It won't help.” Gentle hands took the bottle from her, walked across the small room to set it aside.

Tears spilled down her cheeks freely, wearing tracks. She took in a long, shuddering breath, chest heaving, eyes blurring. Now was not the time to cry. It was self-indulgent and idiotic to cry when they had succeeded, and people looked to her to celebrate their victory.

“You can cry. It's not wrong to cry.”

“Don't respond to things I don't say out loud,” she replied, wiping hands to try and banish the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

No one else knew what she needed, what she wanted. She'd soldiered through admirably, mother would have been proud. The Wardens were under Inquisition control. She'd been terrified to send them away- but they'd done so much evil, was it wrong?

There was no way to tell, every move she made could be the wrong one.

“Here.”

A hand, palm turned upwards, lifting to rest on the edge of her knee. She stared at it. Tears welled, unbidden, unwanted, spilling down drawn cheeks and making aching eyes burn. Evelyn took it.

She held Cole's hand.

He knew what she needed right now.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go back there. I'm sorry for everything,” she said faintly, fingers curling around his. Anchoring. Secure.

“You always are.”

“They need me to be brave. No one wants to see me cry, no one wants to hear my doubts. How could anyone have faith in me when I don't have faith in myself? How do I purge the demon from my head, from my heart?” She knew there were no real answers, just as there had been no answers when she had seen the dead future, when Haven had been destroyed. There was only time. She had to keep moving and keep setting things to rights as best she could with her weak, fumbling hands, praying to the Maker that he would reward her faith with as little evil as possible coming from her choices.

“The other half of your heart will always listen.”

“He will,” she agreed with a long sigh, regretting that she had shut him out. “But I hate to hurt Max. I hate to burden him. His happiness is my happiness. I want to be brave so that he keeps smiling.”

The hand in hers felt human and normal, holding her in the moment. She knew otherwise she would be brooding, closing herself up, wrapping herself in the misery until she could push it down and continue on. Holding it deep inside, like she did everything. Hurts, betrayals, grudges...

“Writing will get it out.”

“It will hurt him,” she said quietly.

“You don't mind hurting him,” Cole reminded her quietly, which made her laugh, a small, bitter laugh.

“I never have.”

The hug was what she wanted, but wouldn't be able to say out loud. She'd forgive Cole for knowing that, because she'd been rude to him for so long, denying his existence. It had been kind of him not to push her into acknowledging him, but if he was going to be a person, it was important that she do so.

Sighing, Evelyn half-turned and returned the hug, pressing her forehead briefly to his shoulder. It wasn't going to change much, but it was enough for now. When Cole left her, she let it out at last, and sealed the letter before she could second-guess or burn it. It might not have been the same as admitting it out loud, but it eased the pain enough.

Enough to put on a brave face.

Sebastian,

The siege was successful. More died than I would like, but some were saved. Warden Stroud and Warden Commander Clarel were lost, much to my regret. Hawke is safe. Fenris is safe. I told them they should go to Starkhaven before they are on with their important business. I hope they will go see you.

I entered the fade again. I'm not certain what to think of writing that down, let alone having lived it. I am grateful that Max did not tumble through with us, I would not want him to have suffered through that. He is safe as well. All of our companions are safe. Varric is safe. We lost many men, but we were successful.

I apologize. This is so haphazard, but it seems that being unable to speak of something also makes it difficult to write about. I entered the fade. There was a spirit. Solas indicated she might have taken the Divine's form as some sort of show of respect. I suppose it is an it, not a she. A spirit of Faith. To think that such a thing exists...

It was not a demon. I was wrong. It helped me. Just like Cole has been helping me, even though he knew that I should not see him, for I was unreasonable. Did you see him? Was I the only one blind all this time?

There was a demon. Many demons, but also a demon. A large one.

It said poisonous things to me. But I am not Andraste and you are not Malferath. I will never presume I have the right to rise to such heights, and you will not betray me again. Will you? To hear it tell me that everyone would turn on me, again and again, it sank into my mind and it will not leave me. It told me that my path is already predetermined, that I am her heretical opposite. I will follow Andraste's path and be betrayed, but in the end they will celebrate my death and not mourn me.

They ask me to make choices now while the world is in danger, but when they have safety again every consequence of every choice will be on my head, and only in that hindsight will I truly know if I am villain or hero.

I saved the mages and possibly condemned Templars to death. What if the mages rise up and try to make the rest of Thedas into Tevinter? Will those deaths be on my head? What if I had banished the Wardens and a new Blight begins? But what if it does not and I have conscripted monsters? If I send a scout here, and soldiers there, will I be setting into motion a chain of events that will end with the annals of history making my name a curse?

I'm writing to you because I do not feel as if I should say these things to the people who follow me. I should be happy and brave right now, to have escaped the Nightmare. I am not. I am hollow, and full of dread.

I think the demon may have won.

I should say cheerful things, like you. Think about a future where we can go to the summer palace like when we were children. My brother will paint us for the Portrait Hall in Starkhaven, us and all of our children. We'll likely continue both of our family's traditions and end up with all boys. That would be good. I would have done my duty to you.

Am I going to die?

And worse, will I be the enemy?

I should burn this letter like the last three, but carrying these thoughts in my head will break and destroy me. I'm sorry. Will you share them with me? You never hate when I make you the target of my ill tempers, so will you bear this for me as well? Perhaps this is what they mean when they say 'sharing burdens', which I have always been told I do poorly.

It feels very much like abusing you.

Will you still want me as your wife knowing this? Would anyone be my friend, knowing that my mind is full of such poison when I should be grateful to have the ability to save Thedas? Maybe I only write to you so that you will condemn me, and take the burden of eventual betrayal off my shoulders.

The old settee in the morning room at the summer palace, the one with the red upholstery and the lion carvings on the arms and the clawed feet. I'd like that under the northern window in the bedroom, if it's still intact. Our names are carved in its underside. Also the drapes and bedclothes will need replacing. Pale green and gold for the nursery, and greens and blues for our rooms. Have the settee reupholstered to match. Everything else at the Steward's discretion.

Write me of soft things, kind things, and make me believe in them.

Please.

Somehow I remain,

Evelyn


	28. Family Matters

“There he is.”

Sebastian laughed and turned away from his mare, leaving her to be tended to by the swarm of servants. Expecting an arm-clasp from the stocky man standing in the momentarily blinding portal of sunlight that led back out again, he was instead pulled into a brief, back-slapping hug. Pulling back, Sebastian gazed down into Liam's face.

He'd always been older, of course, having practically been grown when Evelyn was born, but there were lines at the corners of his Trevelyan-green eyes and silver in his shoulder-length brown hair now. The smile was much the same. The hug turned into a companionable arm across his shoulders, and Sebastian was drawn out into the busy courtyard.

“Trip sounded like it went fine, aye?”

“Aye,” Sebastian agreed, finding the easy affection both surprising and welcome. They'd spoken over letters extensively, but those tended to be all business. “Swifter than I feared. Only one minor altercation, and that was us taking care of an undenned pair of wyverns that were harassing a farm. Agnes and the children are fine?”

“Having the time of their lives. It's nice to have more household help. Maker bless Agnes, but she's always got it in her head she needs to be doing more. I told her you have people for everything, but she's used to the household back home. You know mother would never let people plan menus and suchlike for her,” Liam chuckled, shaking his head.

“Yes, well, she's welcome to it. I eat what they put in front of me.”

Despite all concerns and fears for Evelyn's safety, he was incredibly grateful to be home. More grateful if she'd been with him, of course, but he was trying to count his blessings. Of which, it was important to remember, there were many.

“Not sure what I think of society here, people keep calling and I don't know who I need to shoo away,” Liam said with a small frown. “Kenric's been a brick, a brilliant help, but there's a difference between knowing who's who and all that, and who you need to keep away from your bloody daughters. The twins are driving me mad with their flirtations. Maker save a poor father from the allure of Starkhaven boys.”

Sebastian laughed, quick and surprised. “Please don't say things like that. They're infants. Children. Don't you dare tell me otherwise, or I'll feel ancient.”

“Cecilia is twenty two, Young Conor is twenty, and Elaine and Ilse are nineteen,” Liam said, laughing at Sebastian's long, tired sigh. “Sorry, we _are_ ancient now. I'm going to be a grandfather. Young Conor's wee wife.”

“I thought they only just got married when you left Ostwick,” Sebastian said, feeling the years gone by more keenly than he had before. Maker, to think of it. Young Conor married, and the twins grown women.

“Oh aye, but Agnes is too pleased to pretend to be fussed about it. They got married, that's what matters, even if she was showin' at the celebration. It's fine, we'll just smudge the family records a bit. Happens all the time,” Liam dismissed amiably. “They're absolutely besotted and thrilled about the babe, and that's what's most important. Pretty sure there's a race among the youngsters to see who gets to name their girl after our Evie.”

“She'll be delighted if it happens, I'm sure. Agnes won't mind? Isn't it the usual family tradition to name the first girl after her grandmother?”

“Oh aye, but you know my Agnes, not a mean bone in her sweet body. She's so proud of our small Evie. As are we all, of course.”

“As we all are,” Sebastian agreed, smiling faintly. “I hate to have left her, but we both have our duties.”

“Well, I'm grateful you haven't let me go hang,” Liam said with a quiet chuckle. “Your spymaster's been hemming and hawing over those letters you sent, as is the Knight Commander. Harder to hunt for mages with no Templars, but we've at least had enough time to make sure the household hasn't been infiltrated.”

“No possible suspects, then?”

“There were a few people hired in the last few months that we let go just to make sure,” Liam said, gesturing for Sebastian to precede him. “Coin in their pocket and a letter to help them find a new position, but it wasn't worth the risk to keep them around. Knights are checking everything that comes through the palace gate, as you no doubt noticed. We've also doubled up guards at the other two gates, and have extra patrols down at the river docks. We wanted to wait for you before we decided if we're going to crack down on merchants avoiding the ship registry.”

“Temporarily, perhaps, but not for long. Doing so long-term will only encourage more breaking of the law,” Sebastian dismissed with a small sigh through his nose. “If there's anything harsh that must be done, it's me who needs to be doing it. I'm Prince, the responsibility is mine. I appreciate that you waited.”

“Oh, aye. You know me, just here to be the temporary heir,” Liam teased, slapping his shoulder companionably. “That's my lot in life. The fate of a second son.”

Twisting his gloves in his hands, Sebastian cursed himself. “I'm sorry, I didn't think that it might bother y-”

Liam scoffed loudly, interrupting him. “No, no. Being quite serious! It's good to feel useful. We've been thinking about it for a while, now that Old Alan's second boy is more interested in the horse breeding, letting him take over the business so we can strike out on our own. None of mine seem besotted with the life. Going to have the children with us for a good few years yet, but we're done making them so it'll dwindle.”

“Few years yet? If your eldest is twenty two, wouldn't that put Ian at about sixteen? Can't be too many years?”

Liam gave Sebastian an amused look. “Do you think we stopped when you left, then?”

“Dare I ask?”

They left the looming shadow of the great palace wall, the third of the massive barriers that gave Starkhaven her imposing, inspiring appearance. Rather than head for the front of the palace, which would turn his arrival into more of a to-do than Sebastian was interested in right now, he turned to head for the side, and a door he used often enough in his youth to sneak out.

Not that anyone but his parents or brothers had been allowed to stop him.

“One over a dozen,” Liam laughed, and then all the harder when Sebastian stopped stock-still and stared at him, gloves going limp in his grip. “Three sets of twins.”

“ _Three_?”

“Oh aye. Don't forget, my Agnes has a twin brother, and twins run in the Trevelyan blood. The older girls, a boy and a girl who are twelve now, and another pair of girls, our last and unexpected ones. We'd thought we were done. They're almost four. Bonny wee lasses, if I'm a bit too creaky these days to go tossing them about for hours.”

Liam gestured for him to precede him up the broad stairs, and Sebastian did so. The guards at the door greeted him with a salute, and he inclined his head with a smile, passing through the door as it was opened for him. He waited for Liam to catch back up, their footsteps echoing on dark stone floors.

It would do to remember they were easily overheard here. Best to keep things light and wait for privacy to discuss the real issues again. This place echoed.

“Well, I was going to offer you the dowager house in the city if you and Agnes wanted to stay and settle in here, but now I'm thinking you might not all fit,” Sebastian said with a slow shake of his head.

“With two brothers gone to the Chantry, the twins taking their sweet time, and Alan only having a few, I'm just making up for things,” Liam chuckled amiably. “If you want to keep us around, they'll be helpful when you and Evie get on with things. It's going to be a few years of marriages and babies, as such things go, so there'll be plenty of cousins to grow up with.”

What a wistful, incredible thought. A whole pack of little ones growing up together, never lonely, never wishing for a friend. Something he would have wanted himself as a child.

“Aye, that'd be _wonderful_.”

“There'll be no shortage of them with my brood.”

Thirteen children. Andraste's grace. He couldn't even manage to think about what sort of chaos that would be, though he supposed he would find out soon. But first...

As they turned a corner into a longer corridor, lit by sconces and the vestiges of sunlight peeking in from the end of it, he lowered his voice.

“Would you be so kind as to have summoned the Knight Commander, the Watch Captain, Lord Kenric, Lady Soirse from the merchant's guild, and Lord Mackeroy while I get out of my armor and the dirt of the road? I'd rather that was as big as this gathering got. The more ears, the less safe the secrets, as they say.”

“Lord Mackeroy's still trying to track down any rumors of a merchant known for manhandling his servants. Hard to narrow it down by that, it's not an uncommon vice,” Liam said with a shake of his head. At Sebastian's frustrated sigh, Liam chuckled, low and cracking. “We can't fix everything.”

“We can-”

“There he is. There's our wayward boy.”

The warm, rich voice cut through their conversation, punctuated by echoing footsteps on granite tile. Sebastian glanced up, years of distance melting away as he took in the figure making a beeline up the broad hall for him with hands up to greet his cheeks. A familiar stance. He stepped in to the embrace and let himself be clasped and pulled down.

Both cheeks were kissed heartily with noisy smacks, and Agnes pulled back to beam up at him, deep brown eyes full of merry humor. Her pitch black curls had streaks of silver now, but few enough to not make him feel ancient. In fact, it made him feel younger than ever.

Like a mischievous boy breaking into the kitchen to steal sweets for the prettiest girl in the summer palace.

“Aggie.”

With an explosive sigh, she pulled him down into an emphatic hug. He closed his eyes and returned it, trying not to cling. She wouldn't mind, but it felt excessive. There was just something so comforting about Agnes, who had been a part of Evie's family almost as long as he could have been.

“Oh, Sebastian. It's good to have you back.” Hands clasped his cheeks as she pulled back, beaming into his eyes. “Hello, troublesome boy.”

“How did you go and have thirteen bairns?” he asked her before he could stop himself.

Agnes laughed, giving his cheek a tap halfway to a slap, eyes crinkling at the corner. “Joyous luck. Luck and supreme exasperation with my dear husband. You're likely wanted for some politicking. I won't keep you from it, lest Liam get it in his head again that I should be a part of things. I'd punch someone in court. How's my dear Evelyn?”

Sebastian found his arm being taken proprietorially, led along the hall with a tight grip. He didn't protest. “Evie works hard, she struggles, and she strives. Perhaps a bit too hard, but-”

“That is her way,” Agnes interrupted.

“That is her way. You look as beautiful as the day you were wed,” he told her with a slow smile.

“Hey now,” Liam interjected gruffly, and they both laughed.

“Oh, well, not fine enough for Starkhaven, but-” Agnes blustered, cheeks dimpled.

“That's only because they're blind,” he assured her, ignoring Liam's playful glower. “If it's something so simple as jewels and dresses that make you feel so, I'll drown you in both, Aggie.”

“Stop that now, Vael,” Liam threatened.

“Don't you dare use such pretty words on your nieces and nephews, they're too enamored with Starkhaven society already,” Agnes said, giving him one last, hearty kiss on the cheek and releasing his arm. “Go get tidied up. Shall I have something sent for you to eat?”

“Agnes, stop fussing over Sebastian,” Liam chuckled, giving him a slap on the arm, another unaccustomed bit of casual affection. “I'll send out word. Shouldn't be more than an hour.”

“That suits me fine,” Sebastian agreed, turning his attention back to Agnes as Liam turned and went tromping up the hall. “Something small wouldn't go amiss, I ate when we set out but not since. I've a whole parcel of letters. I'll make sure they're in your hands soon.”

“Should I plan to see you come dinner time, or will you be taking meals in your rooms?”

Sebastian smiled, shaking his head slowly. “I would be delighted to join you, if I may. But, Agnes, are you certain you won't leave for a time? I have been wanting to look into doing over the summer palace, and-”

“Hush,” she interrupted him sternly, the perpetual smile disappearing, eyes serious and calm. “I may not've been born into it, Sebastian, but I'm a Trevelyan and so are the children. We don't abandon family when a shield could be raised to their defense, and don't you forget it. If you ask again I'll be upset with you. If things look too dangerous, I'll send Graham to Ostwick with the wee ones. The older ones can defend themselves. They're _my_ children.”

“Yes, Agnes,” he replied regretfully, knowing that was the end of the argument.

“Good. Let that be the end of it.” She gave him one last enthusiastic pat on the cheek and turned on her heel, marching up the hall. Sebastian watched her go and smiled, dropping his head.

Why had he expected anything else?

Home at last, he continued on to his rooms, mind already beginning to spin plans to put into motion. The saboteurs would be uncovered, and dealt with as swiftly as possible. He couldn't let any of them be harmed.

He'd sworn it to her.

Dear Evelyn,

I'm sorry that after this these are all going to come in one deluge. It seemed more reasonable to send out a carrier every few days or week rather than every day, no matter how much I might like to. Still, I'll mark them so they can be read in order. I'm off the road at last, and while I appreciate the insistence that I keep Inquisition forces to guard me, I'm afraid I'm going to have to refuse and send them back to you. I don't want my men to feel as if I don't trust them.

That's important right now.

I feel guilty to admit that I'm glad to be home, though I miss you and Maximilian. But I will face the days with gratitude for the luxuries my life has afforded me. It is a good reminder, to have lived a while with very little. It will remind me to care for all of my people, not simply those who clamor the loudest and offer the most.

Maybe that is only me being paranoid about slipping into old habits again.

Liam has declined my suggestion that he go home, but I've made every precaution to ensure his family's safety. It is pleasant having him here, we're getting along much better than we did when I was younger. I value his council. I did not realize he had so many children, it seems as if there's more by the day.

They made dinner last night very lively.

Elaine is the spitting image of you around her age, and sometimes she sounds so much like you that it's jarring. So bizarre when my memory insists that her and Ilse should be chubby little tots following you around like adoring puppies. I'm thinking of giving Liam and Agnes the dowager house. It'd be a tight fit, but the eldest six are big enough that they could stay at the palace with us and not need much looking after, give them a bit of independence.

Still a squash, I think dowager house only has five or six bedrooms, but it's close to hand.

Finn introduced me to a toad he'd brought to the table. He named it after you. I must say I prefer the original Evie, but don't tell that to your youngest nephew.

Things are moving along with the business I came to handle. Don't fret at my lack of details. I know at least six people are going to read this before it makes it to your hands. Look to the updates sent to the Nightingale instead for that sort of business. It might get pilfered, but I've sent along a hairpin that caught my eye. I hope it makes its way to you.

Just a pretty bit of nonsense for you to think of me when you see it.

Your father's making noise about sending tocher, but I'm fairly certain that you'd not put up with such. I'm also fairly certain that if anything, the Inquisitor would be marrying down no matter who she wed, so a bride price is the last thing that would be owed. I'll handle it, but I didn't want to hide it from you. If he blusters over it, I'll call him on his bluff and start sending things to Ostwick to pay for your hand.

I'm speaking to the Revered Mother about the marriage banns in about an hour. I'll have a copy sent once it's up. You could even post it, give the Orlesians something to gossip about. I know how much you love that.

Your men are heading back after a good rest. I'm sending this with them, so I'd best stop rambling. Once again, I need to remind you if you don't write me back you'll start getting proper, profoundly sentimental letters. You'll hate that.

In faith and hope, I remain,

Thinking of you,

Sebastian

Maximilian, her most beloved brother, was starting to get on Evie's last nerve.

“It'd be most efficient to stop in Emprise du Lion on the way back to Skyhold, rather than taking a separate trip,” she insisted, gesturing to the battered, marked-up map.

“That place is a bloody mire right now. The Inquisition soldiers can protect the people for a few weeks-” Max signed stubbornly, interrupted by her rude, wild wave of her hand.

“It needs clearing out! We need to know what the red Templars are doing there,” she declared brusquely, signs short and sharp.

“We just sieged a bloody ancient castle! If you won't go back to Skyhold, at least take a day or two here to rest!” he retorted, and threw up his hands at her dismissive sign. Expectantly, he turned his gaze to Cullen and Cassandra, who shared an uncertain look.

Annoyed with him trying to get defense against her, Evelyn reached out and shoved his arm, forcing him to turn his attention back.

“What is the point of resting in a sandblasted wasteland? Better to have it over and done with,” she dismissed, lifting a hand to rub her forehead in slow circles. The shade of the awning spread over the map helped, but it was still too hot and miserable. Dropping her hand, she signed, “there's no point in going back to Skyhold and then coming back out again, that'll add unnecessary days to travel. If you want to go back and rest on your hindquarters while I take care of things, by all means, accompany the army. Wouldn't want to stress your delicate constitution.” Evelyn said, gesturing expansively.

Refusing to be cowed as her taller brother stared down at her with an icy look she recognized all too well, Evelyn lifted her eyes and met it. They stared at one another in frigid silence, ignoring Cullen's awkward throat-clear. Seconds ticked by, until Evie could see Cassandra shifting uncomfortably out of the corner of her vision.

“What. Did you say to me?” Max signed with short, sharp movements.

“I won't be repeating myself.”

“How dare you.”

“How dare I? How dare you presume that you have any right to undermine me in front the Commander?” Evelyn gestured to Cullen, who glanced between them and started to open his mouth. “This is between Maximilian and I.”

Cullen closed his mouth, glancing sidelong at Cassandra.

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize informing you that you were being suicidally stubborn was undermining you! By all means, destroy yourself. It's such a shame that you're dooming Thedas just because you're an obstinate cow!”

“A cow, am I?!”

“Aye! A tyrannical, muleheaded cow who wouldn't know sense if it broke your head!”

“Oh, are we breakin' heads now?”

Max barely ducked the flagon of water, head jerking to the side as it sailed past him and smashed onto the stone behind him, leaving a dark puddle and a spray of stoneware shards. Glowering, she snatched up the pitcher, stomping towards him as he backed out into the sun. She squinted against it angrily, flinging the entire pitcher at him. It hit him in the shoulder, dumping water all over his front. When it fell to the stones it made a glorious smash.

“Inquisitor...”

She ignored the voice from behind her. Red-hot fury had taken over, burning away everything else. How dare he act as if she wasn't sensible? She was eminently sensible!

“You're out of things to throw,” Maximilian signed, expression icy and mocking.

“Oh am I?” she retorted, and threw herself at him.

They never punched each other, that wasn't for fighting her brother. Unfortunately it made the scrabble less dignified, as she launched herself at him and tried to get high enough to throttle. How dare he be so tall?

They scrabbled, pinching and elbowing and attempting to pin each other, a feat he was much better at. He managed to get her in a headlock quite handily, dodging her attempts to find his solar plexus with her elbow. Knocking him off balance with a foot threw them both to the ground, a sacrifice she was willing to make to free herself from the indignity of the headlock.

They tumbled in a heap, and she kicked the side of his knee until he released her with a wince, rolling onto his side. This time she managed to get _him_ in the headlock, dragging him up to his knees. There was a water butt nearby for the guards, and she dragged him towards it.

Max tried to surge to his feet and she fought it, momentarily pulled onto her toes before she yanked him back down. His hands grabbed the edges of the barrel as she tried to dunk his head in it, fighting off her grip. They struggled, that last foot of space between him and the barrel the final stand.

One inch, two, his fingers dug into the sides of the barrel. Every muscle in her arm was so tense it trembled, fingers digging into her palm, teeth clenched tight enough to creak. She had it. She had him.

When he tore away from her, it was with a sudden violence, nearly wrenching her arm at the shoulder. She yelped in surprise, a mistake as a palm slapped against the back of her head and shoved her face-first into the water barrel. She struggled in a cascade of bubbles, eyes wide. Shock robbed her of her anger at last.

The instant the pressure on her head stopped she surged out, gasping for air, vision swimming. Sputtering, she wiped a hand across her face, chest heaving. The bastard. The utter bastard.

There was silence all around them.

As she slowly caught her breath, wiping her face clean with both hands, Max leaned down and kissed her on the top of the head. Ungracious, grumbling, she still hugged him when his arm slung around her. It was only fair.

She wiped her face as dry as she could and smoothed back her hair, wet strands clinging to her ears and forehead.

“Thank you, that was refreshing,” she signed mockingly, and straightened up.

“Any time, Evie,” Max signed back.

Their eyes met, and she gave him a faint smile, shaking her head. “Well, let's go handle these plans.”

Turning on her heel, she stalked back to the awning with the appropriate amount of dignity, ignoring any odd looks. It wasn't her fault if no one knew how to have a proper argument. Some of the stress that had been squeezing 'round her heart eased, the demand in her mind that she not show any weakness quieted for now. She had fairly lost the disagreement.

“So,” she said to Cassandra and Cullen, the latter with a bemused smile on his face. “I think perhaps everyone could do with a day-” Max gave her a sidelong look as he returned to her side, and she sighed and continued. “Or two days of rest before we continue on to Emprise du Lion. I would rather not here, however. We will accompany the army to Val Firmin and accept hospitality again for no more than two days. The army will precede us through Emprise on their way back to Skyhold, securing the citizens' safety and leaving behind a forward camp to await our arrival.”

“That would be the most efficient way,” Cullen allowed, giving a small sigh as he leaned forward, hands resting on the table. “We will do what we can to secure the area. Scout Harding and some of our soldiers will remain to map out what they can of the rifts in the area in anticipation of your arrival.”

“Excellent. The more preparation there is, the less time we need spend there, and the more time we can have to mop up things before the peace talks. I have a pile of business in Val Royeaux I've been holding onto to handle all at once. Once I return to Skyhold and settle things there, I'll be taking a trip to deal with it.”

“Understood, Inquisitor,” Cullen said with a nod.

“Cassandra, could you let everyone know?”

“Yes, Evelyn,” Cassandra said, sounding a bit confused still. “We will be leaving in the morning?”

“Aye,” she said with a nod and a smile. When Max cuffed her shoulder gently and walked off as well, she watched him go with a shake of her head. Pain in her arse.

Sighing, she turned her attention back to the map, smile fading slowly.

“Is that how your family always solves disagreements?” Cullen asked, amusement in his voice.

“Oh aye. Sometimes we're worse,” Evelyn retorted. His laughter brought her smile back.

“My sister and I-” He stalled, and gave a small shake of his head, laughing. “It doesn't matter.”

“You have a sister?”

“Two, and a brother. Between serving the Templars, and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years,” he admitted, glancing past her.

“Years?” Evelyn asked, trying not to sound too aghast. To not see your siblings for so long- “Do you write then? Often?”

“Not as often as I should,” he said. When his eyes met hers, he laughed abruptly. “You look so horrified.”

“I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, it's only-”

“Foreign to you, I'd imagine. You're very close with your family. There's a lot of you, aren't there?”

Despite herself, she smiled at that, eyes on the map. It was nice to just speak, though she knew she should keep some distance. He was just a very easy person to talk to. “Oh aye. In the Ostwick household is of course my mother and father, Alan and Violette and their five, and then Liam and his wife Agnes and their thirteen-”

“Thirteen?!” Cullen asked, shocked. “Maker's breath.”

“It's a noisy crowd,” Evelyn admitted with a smile. “And then Max and I, our other two brothers serving the Chantry. It varies, though. There's the family farms to feed our people and for the distillery, of course. We have a house there. Then there's the stables, for the horse breeding. There's a house there that my Uncle Roland and his family managed, until the-” She paused, and found it in herself to admit without sounding too choked, “until we lost them at the Conclave.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I haven't had time to grieve,” she admitted, shaking her head. “I will one day.”

“I understand.”

She nodded slowly, brushing back strands of her now-dry hair, the heat of this blasted place soaking in quickly. “You should-”

“Hmm?”

“You should write them,” she suggested simply, thinking of all those who had been lost, and all who had yet to be, but inevitably would in the war they waged.

“I- yes. Perhaps I shall.”

Inclining her head, she stepped back and away. The unsteadiness of her heart returned too quickly right now, despite all her efforts to tamp it down. Thoughts of death kept rising to the surface like bubbles in marshwater, uncovering the gouges the demon had left in her heart and soul. They were wounds it seemed she would bear for some time.

Writing had not purged them, but at least she could acknowledge them.

My dear Evelyn,

Please, no apologies for telling me how you feel. I want to hear it all. I know it is difficult, but even still I treasure knowing that you have opened yourself up to me even a little. I hope that doesn't make you pull back away.

I will mind your plea that I speak to you of gentle things, but there is something I must get out of the way.

Elaine and Ilse are insistent that they come to the ball, or at least Halamshiral. I know, absolutely not. However, I am not their father, and you are not their mother, so I am fairly certain that we have a duty to give them what they want so that their parents will be exasperated with us. I do think it's a terrible idea, but they keep calling me Uncle Sebastian.

I cannot be expected to say no, so I am leaving it to you.

Please understand that if you choose to marry me this may be a continuing theme in our lives. I didn't realize this would be an issue until faced with all of Liam's. I spent an hour holding court yesterday to settle some grievances with Laire napping in my lap because Agnes accidentally handed her to me moments before I had to take the throne. I didn't want them to wake her.

They're apparently teething again and poor Agnes is at wit's end.

I didn't know children teethed more than once, I thought the teeth just...came in, and that was the end of it. This is an education. It's more complicated than I realized.

I would think that us being apart would pull us away from each other, but I am realizing now that being plunged into the midst of what you hold most dear has made me feel closer to you than ever. Knowing Evelyn's family is, in a sense, knowing Evelyn. I can almost see you here, where you fit among them.

It feels like home.

I threatened sentiment, and there you have it. I can see a future where we can give our children what I was desperate for a child, and what greater goal could a father have? Before I found your assumption that our having children was an inevitability strange. When we were young I never thought of the future. When I was in the Chantry, and fighting beside Hawke, children weren't going to be a part of my life. When I took the throne, I ignored the demands of blood. Of course I knew it in abstract that I would have children, but I never truly understood what that meant. I didn't realize that having children would make _me_ a father.

Now I wonder what a little daughter with your sweet shy smile would look like.

When I was a child being a third son meant I was useless, but I've now seen what being a seventh son looks like, and it involves impulsive hugs, and toads named Evelyn, and mud puddles and noise and chaos and I think that in being a third son I missed out on the joy of being a seventh. I think I took for granted the joy of being your family when I had it. I wish I could have known and understood more when we were young.

I promise you. I will never betray you again. I know that you may not trust my promises, and you are tired of having them. In retrospect I realize that perhaps I have been trying to repair things between us with vow after vow, and what you need is proof and not words. So I will prove it. Every single day, and for the rest of our lives if necessary.

I miss you.

Yours,

Sebastian


	29. An Exchange of Gifts

Lying face-down on the bed, Evelyn let out a long sigh into the pillow.

The letter in her hand crinkled as she folded it up, trying to fight back the utterly foolish smile that threatened to overwhelm her. The sentimental idiot. The utter, ridiculous, sentimental idiot.

Sighing, she flopped over onto her back, giving in and unfolding Sebastian's letter again. In the wan morning light gleaming in from the balcony, she scanned the lines of the missive once more. Her thumb slowly ran across his simple scrawled signature, smile fading slowly.

It was easier to absorb such emotional nonsense when it wasn't face to face.

Easier not to dismiss it out of hand.

“I don't know how I feel about you, you bloody horrible man,” she sighed at the letter in her hand, and then finally tossed it down on the bed and rose. Aches, injuries, and pains banished by magic, she still felt slodgy and slow this morning.

It wasn't even about the sentiment, it was those last few words that had struck her. 'The rest of our lives'. Something she knew as a matter of course, what it all meant. That was the whole bloody point of marriage, but it was the implied 'together' she hadn't thought much of.

Could she spend the rest of her life _with_ him?

Or would she merely marry him?

The boy he'd been, certainly not. There wouldn't have been a 'together' as time went on, as the cracks between them widened and became permanent fissures. They'd do their duty in a cold bed and then avoid each other. Frigid smiles at dinners, holding court together out of necessity, and then escaping each other's company- her to her family, and him to the whorehouses. Distant and unhappy.

Evelyn set the kettle to heat, and crossed to spoon tea into the thistle-painted teapot Sebastian had given her. It had yet to be thrown. Certainly she'd get around to it in time.

Could she live a life together with the man he was now? It was difficult to say. There was still an unspoken bitterness she wasn't quite sure how to handle. A pebble in her shoe, a dart lodged in the heart. Well, perhaps it was best to cut it down. Be sensible, divide the problem into chewable pieces, like father would say.

Would she marry him? Yes. It was sensible, he seemed determined to dote on her, which was pleasant, and she never had a fear of him being violent or cruel to her face. Neglectful, yes. Two-faced, yes. Indolent and selfish, yes.

Violent, no.

Did she find him attractive? Well, yes, very. He had always been a handsome man, and he didn't abuse himself with indolence and vice. Admittedly the one time she'd bedded him, now that she could think about it without being in a fury, was decidedly _not_ enjoyable, but that was more the selfishness and drunkenness than any distaste with his body and face.

Other experiences with more age and self-respect ensured that she knew how to enjoy such things now. A long summer with an Antivan merchant's daughter who had been a 'very good chum' as mother had put it so innocently had taught her plenty that Sebastian had neglected to. Speaking of which, she should write Marisol, it would be nice to hear from her.

Irregardless, she thought perhaps she might enjoy sex with him this time around, especially if his doting extended to the bedchamber.

Evelyn considered it as she settled into her seat and poured her tea, gazing out at the mountain view with a purse of her lips. Yes, she rather thought she would enjoy bedding him now. Which was good, especially if he came out of these new revelations he was having with a desire for a whole pack of wee ones. Unfortunately, she had an inkling if she tried to prove her suspicions, he'd insist upon being married first, which made things more difficult.

Would he be a good father? Yes, of course. That wasn't even a question, his problems had never been with how he treated children, and now he was even more even-tempered and gentle than he was when they were young.

Would he be a good partner? They fought well together, and they seemed to work well enough together. There might not be enough information there to decide, she had yet to see him rule, but she'd never shied away from a good argument and at least she felt confident he would listen to her objections in private. She wasn't so stupid as to undermine him in public.

Did she enjoy his company?

Well, that was where Evelyn found herself stalling.

If she took it apart piece by piece...she liked reading his letters. She enjoyed the banter once she'd relaxed around him. He had a sense of humor, at least, which was important. He knew exactly how serious she was with her tempers, which was a symptom of their history together, and he never took them too seriously like Cullen had. He seemed to enjoy when she was imperious and bossy with him, which Aunt Rose had always said would be the death of any man that dared marry her.

She liked the way he smiled at her, slow and simmering and troublesome.

But did she like him?

“Why should I like someone who never liked me?” she asked, feeling the sting of that betrayal all over again.

So many childhood years of unquestioning friendship. So much trust, and yes, love. The love of a silly girl with a silly future all planned out. Destroyed. Crushed, in an instant. Proof that it was true, and she was just an unlikable person.

A betrayal that recolored every sweet memory, tainted it. Like a poison surging through veins until it reached the heart. A girl's fragile heart.

He'd betrayed not only her heart, but the half of it that belonged to her brother.

The idea that this was her being bloody-minded again did cross her mind, but since she didn't want to consider the notion, she discarded it and sipped at her tea, watching the sun finish rising. And then Evelyn rose, dressed, and went to face the day.

The last question remained unanswered.

There was no time to dwell on it, at any rate, for Leliana was waiting for her. Finally, an answer, a long-awaited response to a letter that had been most difficult to send. Not that writing it was hard, but trying to find the recipient had been. Incredibly difficult. She'd made six copies of it, and it seemed a single one had found its target.

This early, most were not up, and she paced the empty great hall with a fresh cup of tea and her hair down, twisted back behind her ear and secured out of her face with the pretty green and gold hairpin Sebastian sent her that had indeed made it to Skyhold. It was only enamel, probably wisely considering the state of the roads, but the design of twisted vines was rather charming. Among no one but servants and soldiers, she felt quite comfortable to wander in just a simple under-dress with her hair down.

No whispers and eyes.

Normally she would go to pray at this hour, but finding the letter upon waking demanded she go discover what aid exactly had been sent. Aid promised by the greatest hero of the age. Well, one of the greatest heroes of the age. At least the greatest hero of the south, which was fairly important.

Of course Leliana was up, as she paced her way up the winding stairs to her rookery high above. Waiting. A gift on the table spread with secrets, something to aid the Inquisition, sent by the Hero of Ferelden herself. Something to aid them in their quest to rescue all of Thedas from an ancient madman.

Evelyn stared down at the table, and then back up again, trying to sound curious and not furious. “It's...a belt?”

“Yes,” Leliana said, absolutely poker-faced.

“Isla Cousland, the great Hero of Ferelden, my little cousin...sent a _belt_ to aid the Inquisition?”

“Yes, that is correct,” Leliana said, still utterly unreadable.

“I pray you forgive me, but, Leliana, what the fuck?”

The laughter started immediately, and Evelyn's face settled into a scowl. The look shifted from Leliana to the cluttered, shadowy upper floor, a slow spin with an accusing stare. Hunting for anything, any sign of movement.

“Isla! I know you're here, you wretch!”

“Oh come now, it's funny!” When a shadow darted around a stack of boxes and threw its arms around her, Evelyn rocked in place, keeping her stern expression. Leather armor creaked, the scent of blood and horse surrounding her as she was squeezed into an emphatic hug. Giving a weary sigh, she lifted her arms and returned it.

“Maker save me from my family,” she groused.

Pulling back with leather-gloved hands clasping her, Isla beamed at her, staring down into her face. Skin an oddly wan hue without a single wrinkle, it was unsettling how young she would look even now if not for the vicious scar that started at her left temple and wandered along the line of her high cheekbone. That was new. Her raven hair was pulled back into one high plait, and her wide mouth was twisted into an expression of self-satisfied mirth.

So strange to realize that even with all the years and feats, Isla was _still_ younger than her.

“What did the Hero of Ferelden do to stop an ancient darkspawn Magister? Oh well, she sent a belt,” Evelyn said sarcastically, and then laughed when it only made the smile more impish. “Oh, Isla. It's been a very long time.”

“Too long. My duties don't really let me get out much, but Fergus sends along the updates from your side of the family. To be fair, I didn't just send a belt, I sent an assassin to your betrothed,” she pointed out, pleasantly raspy contralto voice still full of humor.

“As ominous as that sounds, I hope it helps. I'll be honest, half the reason I was so insistent you come is that I knew how much Leliana misses you,” Evelyn admitted, smiling at the small gasp that garnered her.

“Inquisitor!” Leliana laughed in protest.

“I'm only half joking,” Evelyn assured, lips quirking up into a deeper smile. “Half. Isla, you couldn't be better timed. I've conscripted some Wardens that were tricked into doing-” She glanced to Leliana, whose expression sobered. “They've done some awful things. The Warden Commander of Orlais is dead, and I- I did the best I could, but I've only one Warden I trust, and he is a solitary sort.”

Isla's expression turned solemn, and she nodded her head slowly. Not even a moment of hesitation or shock. “Okay. Tell me all about it.”

Feeling some of the burden of her choices easing from her shoulders, Evelyn spoke of Adamant. Despite her own pain she bore, she left very little out. It wasn't about her, but about dealing with what had happened and what repercussions might come from it. As much as she valued Blackwall and his skills, it was nice to have someone with more of a thumb on the pulse of the Gray Wardens.

It was nice to speak with someone who had faced the end of Thedas and fought it back; survived.

It gave her hope.

The arm slamming into his chest sent Sebastian back against a wall, but he couldn't fault the vehemence of the motion. Reflexes kept him from hitting his head on the stone, at least. The sibilant, threatening sound of a blade being drawn only garnered a delighted, amused laugh from the shadowy figure lurking in his study.

“Your highness, stay back!” the guard who had thrown him against the wall snapped.

“Excellent instincts!”

The laughing voice of the shadowy man was both exceedingly memorable, and vaguely familiar, the two quickly bringing remembrance to the fore. Despite it being a familiar voice, that didn't mean he was safe. If anything, it meant Sebastian was in more danger than ever.

“I don't suppose I could just pay you more,” he said, keeping his voice even.

“Oh no. No, no, what would that do to my reputation?” He laughed again as the thundering of feet coming up the hall began growing louder. “Ill-timed flippancy on my part. You are not my target, Prince Vael. I was sent to help you.”

“Zevran, you couldn't have led with that information?” Sebastian asked, exasperated.

“And where is the fun in that?”

“ _Zevran_.”

“I would hate to kill any of your men. Considering I'm here to keep you alive, that would be a very bad way to start off our relationship. I have a letter from your charming wife to be.”

The parchment gleamed in the low light, catching it much easier than the assassin in his shadowy gear. Sebastian nodded to the guard, who was watching him cautiously. “Go ahead and take it, and bring it to me. Zevran, keep your distance.”

“Certainly. Could you call off your approaching men, at least? The more people that see me, the more difficult my job becomes.”

“Aye.” Turning to the other guard that had been flanking his door, he nodded to him. “Call off the rest. Tell them it was a false alarm.”

“Your highness-”

“I trust you to keep me safe if the assassin does not keep his word.” Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder, into the darkness of his study. “Has Leliana engaged the Crows, then, or are you still on the outs with your old comrades?”

“I'm certain she's engaged them for other jobs, but no, we have sadly not kissed and made up. I've killed far too many of them for me to go waltzing back into their arms. That would be an excellent way for me to end up with a knife in my back.“ The letter was snatched out of Zevran's fingers, and he lifted both hands and stepped back again as the guard backed towards Sebastian with it, not turning his back to the elven man.

“Such a shame when friends fall out,” Sebastian said, opening the letter and scanning it. The chaos in the hallway eased off, his senses on high alert.

Sebastian,

Your mother's second-favorite earrings were buried under the bell heather next to the northern garden steps, the ones with the marble and black granite designs inlaid with gold. They're possibly still there, you buried them deep. She'd ignored you when you kicked up a fuss at dinner trying to get her attention, and you were angry. I cried all night because I felt so guilty about stealing them. You just thought it was funny. You made me promise never to tell.

Now that we've established it's me and not a forgery, Leliana's friend was in the area. She trusts him. He owes the Inquisition a favor. My cousin, the one from Ferelden, wrote me that we can trust him implicitly or she'll do the thing she's always threatened to do.

Her words not mine.

He is going to make sure that no one who shares his skills will be harming you or my family.

Stay safe or I'll dig up your corpse and harangue it.

Evelyn

“I'd completely forgotten about that,” he murmured to himself, making a mental note to go see if the earrings were still there. He thought they might have been emeralds. They'd suit Evie, she'd look stunning in emeralds. “Can I call my spymaster and knight commander at least?”

“I would prefer not, until I get a lay of the land. If these two gentlemen do not mind keeping it to themselves, that would be for the best.”

“Aye. Let me speak with them, and then you and I will converse.”

“Excellent. I will start tasting the contents of your cabinet for poison.”

Sebastian dealt with the soldiers quickly, ensuring that he sounded properly grateful while emphasizing how important it was that they say nothing. They wouldn't have been stationed outside of his quarters if he didn't trust them. They'd been by his side since the beginning, since he'd returned to take the throne, and that mutual long-standing trust would ensure that they kept quiet.

Despite his own faith in Evelyn, walking back into his room to be alone with a man he knew considered murder a form of sport was bound to make one uneasy.

The heavy door closed behind him, and he leaned both palms against it briefly before straightening up with a sigh. Tucking the letter securely into his doublet, he turned to face the room. He could see the door to his bedroom was cracked, no doubt he'd come in through the window.

“I hope I won't ruin your ambiance if I stoke the fire,” Sebastian said, crossing to it.

Zevran had claimed the heavy, leather-upholstered seat at his massive desk, and was sitting with his legs atop its surface, ankles crossed. Gotten into the Antivan brandy already, Sebastian noted. He had a smirk on his face, twisted wryly.

“I look excellent in most lighting. I see you've come up in the world since last we met. Though, then again, the burning corpse of Kirkwall isn't a difficult place to move up from, hmm?”

“I thought the last, and only time we'd met was out on the coast when we took care of those people after you,” Sebastian said, crouching to lay more wood on the banked fire.

“That was the last time _you_ saw _me_ , but I was there when Meredith was fought. I owed Hawke a minor debt, and I do so _hate_ owing.”

“Well, I'm grateful that you're here, I know you wanted to be gone from the Marches. I didn't know you knew Evelyn's cousin. I knew you'd been in Ferelden during the Blight, but-”

Zevran smiled slowly, tipping his head. “Oh yes. She almost killed me once! Or possibly two or three times. Isla has a very exciting temper.”

“A family trait,” Sebastian said with a faint smile, ducking his head.

“She is a remarkable woman. That also seems to be a family trait, from what I am hearing. Ah, speaking of which,” Reaching into his belt, he fished out a second letter, which looked significantly larger than the little note. “This made its way to me with the first letter.”

Approaching, Sebastian took it from his fingers, turning it over to examine the seal. It looked unbroken, but who knew if that meant it remained unread or not? Still, he recognized Evie's hand on the scribbled directions on the outside of the slightly rumpled letter.

“I promise, I did not read your love letters. Though I admit to being _very_ tempted,” Zevran laughed, smile only deepening at the slight look of disbelief Sebastian gave him.

“So. Prince Vael. How shall I keep you alive?”

“Well, Zevran, let's discuss,” Sebastian said, regretfully setting the letter aside for later.

Leaning against the stable wall, Isla folded her arms over her chest.

Well, he sure looked like someone who might have been conscripted out of the Ferelden famlands or Orlesian countryside, she knew not all of the recruiters were as open-minded as Duncan had been. Big, burly, dubious morality, that was how it tended to go. Luckily, having a purpose and duty did well for a lot of those sorts. The harsh training helped round off some pointy edges.

She'd heard.

It wasn't like she'd had time to go through it. “Warden Blackwall.”

His head jerked up, and he glanced away from the carving he was working on. She couldn't tell what it was at this distance, with the fire behind him. She waited as he took in her armor, and then rose to his feet slowly.

“Yes, that'd be me,” he agreed. “Warden...?”

“Cousland,” she said brusquely. She watched realization dawn on his weathered face.

“The Hero of Ferelden,” he said, uneasy.

“So they claim. Don't worry, I don't need lips glued to my arse. This is a long shot, I already know what you're going to say, but have you had even a damned peep from Weisshaupt?” She was expecting the shake of his head, and when it came, she cursed with resignation.

“No, my Lady.”

Isla grimaced, rubbing the back of her neck. “I haven't been a lady in years, let's leave that in the past. Cousland's fine. I've heard your name before. You were friends with the previous Orlesian Warden-Commander, weren't you?”

“Fontaine,” Blackwall supplied, eyes dropping to the floor. “Yes.”

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly, lips pursing. “It's always rough. I'm. Shit. Uh, I'm sorry. Evie- I mean the Inquisitor debriefed me about Adamant. That's rough too.”

“It's hard to see good men do desperate things,” Blackwall agreed, their eyes meeting across the length of the stable.

“Yeah,” she breathed, feeling that all too well. “It sure is. Maybe we can debrief later. I'm curious about the Darkspawn activity you've encountered. If this Magister really is like the Architect...”

“Who?”

“The- right, you've been on your own. A Darkspawn I ran into before, another sentient one. Also crazy. If this Corypheus' story is in any way true, that might just be the way with the old ones. It's- it's not really relevant right now, I guess.”

Well used to the taciturn individualism of some of her ilk, she stepped forward three paces and then thrust out her arm despite the vast distance between them. He could, or could not, it wouldn't hurt her any either way. There was a moment of hesitation, and then he set down his tools and paced forward to clasp her arm above the elbow. She returned it, firmly.

“I'm sorry you had to stand against them at Adamant. You did the right thing,” she assured him with a nod.

“Thank you, L- Warden-Commander. Are you staying long?”

“I kind of feel like I have to. The Orlesian garrison is sort of fucked, and unless you're going to step up and command them...” When he started blustering, she laughed slapping a hand to her chest. “Right. Anyways, sounds they need some discipline, and I hit another dead end, so I guess we should help each other out for a while. Besides, it's not every day your cousin steps into the world-saving shoes, huh?”

“Lady Evelyn?” he asked, seeming surprised. “She's your cousin?”

“Yeah. Well, her mom and my mom were raised on the Waking Sea. Raiders. Mine went south and hers went north,” Isla joked with a fond, wistful smile.

“Raiders...well, forgive me saying so, but that explains a lot,” Blackwall chuckled.

“It does, doesn't it?” Isla laughed, not in the least bit offended. “Okay. I need to go orient myself, head down to the encampment to see what's left. Thanks, Blackwall. We'll talk soon.”

“Yes, Warden-Commander.”

They shared a nod and she smiled, turning on her heel. After being buried underground the air invited her to breathe in deeply, brushing along her face. Isla tilted her chin up, smile touching her lips as she observed the sky. It felt so good.

No matter how used to Dwarven society she got, there was something in her, deep inside, that craved the sky.

“Isla.” the distantly familiar voice called her away from her sun-basking.

Blinking, she drew her gaze down from a soft blue sky painted with high clouds, meeting a confused stare. It took her a good ten seconds to realize who it was that knew her bloody name. Shit.

Why didn't Leli warn her?

Older, and straighter, with deeper lines in his face, but the same tousled blond hair and dark eyes- it was someone she hadn't seen since she'd left Ferelden behind at last.

“Cullen,” she greeted, lips quirking into a breathless smile. “Wow. Look at you.”

“Look at _you_ ,” he countered from up on the battlements, armored forearms leaning against it. “Though I guess in this case I'm the one who's gone and aged. As far as I can tell, you haven't. I wasn't expecting you for a few days.”

“The years passed for me, too,” she retorted. “What do you mean, expecting me? What are you doing here?”

“I'm-” He paused, puzzled. “What do you mean? I'm the Commander of the Inquisition's armies.”

They stared at each other for a good ten seconds, until her shock cracked and he smiled, a lopsided, sardonic smile.

“No!” she blurted out, laughter stuttering over the words. When he frowned, she laughed all the more. “No, not like 'Cullen can't do it', I mean I wasn't told! Shit.” She lifted a hand in a beckon, walking towards the base of the wall. “Come have a drink, Cullen. We can plot our revenge against Leli.”

“It's a bit early for that, Isla.”

“I'm not used to time meaning anything,” she sighed, glancing up to the sky again. The smile returned to her lips. “Maker, look at all that gorgeous sky.”

“There's a lot of it around here. Were you planning to spend the day mooning over it?”

“I've been underground for a long time. Also haven't spoken to people in a long time! So if I fuck it up, that's why,” she said with a smile. At Cullen's curious look, she clarified, “my travel companions had no tongues. Silent Sisters. It's a Dwarven thing. You've never lived until you've forged ancient paths in the Deep Roads with a bunch of women who punch darkspawn to death.”

“Noted,” Cullen said, bemused.

“Nice scar.”

“You too. Not from the Archdemon? No, I would have remembered that.”

“A Broodmother. No, you really don't want to know what that is. Trust me, you'd lose all interest in tits,” she joked.

“Good to know,” Cullen said, with an awkward but amused smile.

“I need to debrief and possibly punch a bunch of your conscripts. You wanna show me where they're camped?” she invited. “I'm starting to get a crick in my neck.”

Cullen glanced back over his shoulder, and then back down from her, pushing off of the battlements with a long sigh. “I suppose I can spare the time.” She could tell it was a joke, and just let it go with a smile.

“You'd better, you owe me a life debt still, ya know,” she pointed out, which garnered her another long sigh as he clomped down the metal stairs with a rattle of metal. He met her at the bottom, and gave her a rather dark look. “It's true.”

“I owe you more than that,” he replied, and glanced over at the stable. “Do you want to ride down to the camp? Or walk. It's a bit of a walk.”

“No more horses, please,” she begged, reaching back with a wince. “My arse hurts, and my thighs. So bad. And I was only on the bloody beast for a day and a half! Do you know how long it'd been since I was on a horse?”

“A walk it is,” Cullen said with a small nod of his head. “Did your cousin enjoy the surprise?”

“Evelyn? Yeah. Funny to see her in charge, but I guess she's got all sorts of people to boss around, so I'm sure that's fun for her. She wears it pretty well,” Isla said, pondering over her older cousin thoughtfully. She hadn't seen her in years, but she seemed about the same. Small, imperious, full of temper. Fun to mess with.

“She's an excellent leader,” Cullen said firmly, glancing down at her with a blink when she laughed. “What?”

“Well, she's got lots of practice. No, I'm sure she's doing great. And her mom's no doubt pleased as a nug in shi-cheese. Politics are definitely more her game than mine, I'll tell you that.” Glancing up at the sky again as they started across the bridge, she chuckled to herself. “Leli tried to find me for the job, you know.”

“Yes, I was told you couldn't be found,” Cullen said with a suspicious sidelong look. “How convenient for us that you were found now. You know, it would have garnered us some real legitimacy, when things were just starting out. Or Hawke, who also very conveniently could not be found until after we'd named an Inquisitor. Imagine that.”

“Blah blah blah,” she retorted, and then laughed at the hard look he gave her. “I have enough titles and enough duties. Sorry. I can't take you seriously in that armor, Cullen. You look like a lion tried to eat you and got tired halfway through.”

“You know, I don't recall you _talking_ this much,” he retorted, though she could hear the humor behind the disapproval.

“I talked to myself, a lot. Down there. I mean, the Sisters signed, but they weren't always with me. Sometimes I was alone,” she replied, keeping her voice light. “Sorry, I'll try to go easy on it.”

“No, I didn't mean-” Cullen sighed, glancing sidelong at her. “I was teasing. It's nice to see you again, Isla. Under better circumstances.”

“Cullen, the world's ending again,” she replied flatly, and then smiled at his scoff.

“No, I meant- well, honestly, it's still better circumstances. At least _I'm_ better. Hopefully more pleasant to deal with.” Under his breath, he added, “not that that's hard.”

“You'd been through a lot,” she replied lightly, and they shared a small smile. “You know I understood, even if I was kind of annoyed with you. Calling for mage genocide was kind of a step too far for me.” When he winced and glanced aside, she grimaced. “Sorry. It's been so long I didn't stop to think it might bother-”

“Things have been a bit more sharp as of late. I can speak of it now, I am simply-” At her curious look, he shook his head. “Just more nightmares lately. It leaves the mind uneasy. I was wrong, Isla. I know I apologized before, when you wrote me, but doing it face to face is important, too. I was wrong.”

Lips pursing, she tried to recall. It'd been a while ago, and actually- “I never got your letter. Sorry, Cullen. But, you were there when I needed you, sword in hand. That matters. I screwed up plenty, you know that. I like to think I've changed for the better, too.”

“If only I'd done it sooner,” he said with a frown.

“Last time I heard from Gregoire was years ago, after the attack on Amaranthine, and he said you'd left. Didn't give me any more than that. When Leli wrote me about the Divine's death, I assumed you'd died, too. Like a lot of other Templars,” she mused, wandering over that in her mind. Or out fighting the mages, possibly, but that wasn't a thing to say to him. He seemed different, and he had apologized, so maybe his views had eased up. “I don't know the half of what you guys have been doing. Evs only updated me on the Adamant thing, and the demon.”  
“I was-”

“Hmm?” she asked when he stalled, heading down the slope toward the river in front of her. She followed, waiting for him to finish, but the seconds ticked by without a response. Finally when they reached the flattening of the road, she gave a small nudge to his elbow and trotted to catch up. Their eyes met again.

“I was sent to Kirkwall. I've since chosen to leave the Templar Order.”

“Oh,” she said. At a loss, she finished simply, “shit.”

“Yes,” he agreed mildly. “It was.”

They continued on in silence.

Sebastian,

Please find enclosed a letter for my dear nieces to inform them that there is absolutely no way that they will be allowed to go to Orlais, which need I remind you, is in the middle of a civil war. A civil war. Since you chose to weasel out of this responsibility and leave it on my shoulders, you will deliver it by hand. No foisting it off on a servant. I'm serious.

Should you fail to follow my directions, I'll simply stop giving them, and then you'll have to do everything yourself. And before you point out that I would have no way of knowing, I'd know. I know everything.

Enclosed is a sweet little sketch Maximilian did of the puppies for me, under duress. Ignore that I am in the picture, it was the only way he'd do it because he's a pain in my arse. She misses you, it's a bit sad to see her sit up and stare at the stairs every time someone comes up to my room, but they both like Cole and he helps keep them entertained when I'm busy.

I've finally gotten word from Isla back. She's said she'll send some sort of aid, and that she knows someone who can help you. I can tell how much Leliana misses her when we speak of her, so I'm praying to the Maker that Isla will come herself. Despite our few talks, the burden Leliana bears still seems so heavy. I cannot imagine what it was like for her to lose the Divine.

I am not good at helping people with their burdens, I could be a much better listener, but perhaps if Isla comes then that will help.

I suppose I should be writing of sentimental things, like you, but I am not good at it, so you will have to make do with my pointless ramblings. I didn't dislike what you wrote me. I'm just not used to hearing such things without dismissing them. I am beginning to think that it is a bad habit, and not a good one. If you said them to my face I would not have been very kind, and I feel badly for that because I think you may believe you are being genuine.

I am having trouble believing that you are.

I'm not certain why you would miss me.

I don't have anything else to say right now, I suppose. Thank you for the hairpin. It's pretty, and useful, and that is the sort of present I like best. Just like my Thistle, and the tea set...I suppose you are good at choosing presents. I couldn't think of anything except the sketch. I'm sorry if it's disappointing.

Good night, or morning, or whenever this finds its way to your hands.

Evelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to update some tags >.>


	30. Memories

Well, this was interesting.

Gazing at Isla, Cullen watched her face down the remnants of the Orlesian Wardenry. Her face was stony, chin lifted with a particularly cold look in her amber eyes. It was intimidating, not even turned on him. He remembered her being a lot more quiet, but it had been quite some time.

They'd both grown into their boots, so to speak.

“Grey Wardens of Orlais! So from what I hear, you all really screwed the fuck up,” she barked, “being Ferelden, I am not in the least bit surprised to hear that! Welcome to the fucking Inquisition! Be grateful you were not killed after what you pulled!”

There were some uncertain looks being shared, but no one had spoken up. Yet. Cullen had been under the impression that she was going to be trying to raise morale. That did _not_ seem to be the case.

“I am now your Warden-Commander. If you have a problem with that, please feel free to come to me with any concerns! I love a good joke.”

Despite himself, Cullen was forced to hide a smile. He cleared his throat and straightened up, watching as she prowled back and forth with irritable, restless movements, eyes moving from face to face. Idly he clasped both hands on the pommel of his sword, attempting to look stern and supportive.

“I will be negotiating clearer terms of conscription from the Inquisitor, so that they don't get to just bloody well claim us in perpetuity. After being released from the Inquisition, after having repaid the damage you have done to the best of your abilities, you will be frog-marched to Amaranthine to submit yourselves to Warden-Constable Howe for training until he's satisfied! Yes, that was an Orlesian joke! Get used to them!”

There was curiosity from the nearby camps, though the Wardens were somewhat separate from his men. He could feel the eyes on them, however. Isla's voice carried, pitched as if she were on the battlefield and not dressing down- well, he supposed they were her men now.

She hadn't even asked, he was fairly certain, but Cullen certainly wasn't going to be the one to contradict her. He was grateful to not have to assign someone to oversee them. If Evelyn had a problem, he had no doubt that they'd work it out between them.

Isla jabbed a finger out, scanning across the group. “Whoever among you proves to not be a complete tit may be named Warden-Commander of Orlais at the end of said training, because I'm sure as fuck not going to do it! Savvy?”

There were a few reflexive mumbles of agreement, but quickly one of them stepped forward and nodded his head. “Yes, Warden-Commander Cousland.”

“Good. We're not always the most popular people between Blights, and sometimes that can be hard to remember when they were so desperate for us before. Right now, though, this is our responsibility, and we have a duty to defeat Darkspawn, especially this one, for your brothers and sisters who fell! We get the job done, even when all of Thedas forgets what they owe us. You're dismissed for now. I need to see what the Commander needs from us.”

She turned on a heel, steely expression immediately dropping as she clapped Cullen on the arm and walked past him, tilting her head. He fell into step with her, both amused and impressed. It certainly wasn't how he would speak to _his_ men, though he wasn't so delusional as to think he couldn't be downright surly.

In his defense, a great many people he was required to deal with were infuriating.

They passed by encampments, her arms clasped behind her back, a sardonic, self-aware little smirk at the corner of her mouth.

“You enjoyed that, did you?”

“Nathaniel's going to hate me,” she admitted gleefully, and gave a small cackle. “Ah, he needs me being troublesome at him sometimes. Takes himself too seriously.”

“Nathaniel- Warden-Constable Howe. You meant Nathaniel Howe, the son of the man who _murdered_ your family?”

“I conscripted him after the Blight,” she said, openly amused now, all signs of ferocity gone. “We've long since had things out. He's a good Warden, and a good second in command. His father was an utter bastard, a monster. That doesn't mean it wasn't his father. It took a while for us to come to terms.”

Both aghast and in awe, he shook his head. “Maker's breath. You like a challenge.”

“I do. Thanks for being my backup there. I'm probably going to camp down with them. It'll help if we're all complaining about the cold and food together,” she said, shaking her head with a swing of her braid.

“Evelyn isn't going to like that,” Cullen warned her, a faint smile touching his lips. “But it's a good idea. Kick them while they're down, build them back up?”

“I actually am really furious with them, that part wasn't fake,” Isla said, slitting a sidelong look at him. “We're not soldiers or Templars. We should be _able_ to work independently. It's often very necessary. Just following orders isn't a good excuse in my book.”

He frowned, feeling a censure in that statement he wasn't certain that she meant or not. Even if she hadn't, it felt tailor-made to prick at his guilt. “I regret it.”

He gestured for her to precede him up the embankment, but she paused and turned towards him. Their eyes met, hers measuring and intent. Weighing. Finally her lips quirked up into a sly, arch smile. “You do. Good. I like that. You wanna get conscripted? I could use someone like you under me.”

Her smile remained through his disbelieving look, and it wasn't until he broke and laughed, rubbing the back of his neck that she relented.

“A tempting offer, but I think I'll pass. To avoid the Inquisitor's wrath, if nothing else,” he declared wryly.

“Pff,” she dismissed, spinning on her toes and beginning to trudge up towards the stairs. “Great, now I gotta whip those sad-sacks into shape by myself. Hey, come introduce me to Seeker Pentaghast. I really want to meet her.”

“Isla, I do actually have things I am supposed to be doing,” he retorted, following behind her, smiling wryly at her mocking laugh. “I wasn't expecting to see you for a few days. I will obviously make time for you, but it will have to be later.”

“Make it down-time, we'll have a drink. Throw knives. Business can wait until I've got my feet under me and my head out of the clouds.” Turning to face him, she walked backwards on the bridge, face returned to more sober lines. Her voice was crisp. “But- so forewarned is forearmed, I will need a map of all known Darkspawn sightings, preferably one with mapped Thaigs and other Deep Roads of note. I need use of your armorer for some repairs, I know I look spit and pretty but there's some real damage that needs addressing, and I need a new set of leathers. If nothing can be cobbled together that looks proper, I'll need leave to send one of the conscripts to Amaranthine to acquire some things.”

“I don't suppose you have any more men to spare,” Cullen asked mildly, already well aware that she was likely to reject the idea.

Isla's lips tightened, and she gave a faint shake of her head. “I- no. I'd prefer that they be utilized to handle things that we were meant to handle, not prop up your army. No offense. If I find something in Ferelden I want them to take care of, or something that haphazard squad can't handle, they'll be notified. And then they'll take care of it, without pretty banners and politics.”

“Afraid we'll damage your reputation?” He asked, both understanding and full of humor.

Isla snorted, but with a wry smile. “We have a tough enough time of it as it is, between Blights. I'm expecting Anora to take back the lands she gave me at any time, it's not a comfortable place to be. You've got me, and your conscripts. I'm willing to risk my life and reputation to save them, but not the lives and reputations of the people who have stuck by me through the Void and back again. If it works out well, great. If it goes badly, they can disavow me.”

She paused in the gateway, and he paused as well. It wasn't the sort of thing a man wanted to hear, when he'd put his whole life and soul into a cause, but in the end Isla was right. She was a Warden, with a specific place and purpose. He'd seen her kill the Archdemon, he knew the cost of what her calling took.

He shouldn't hold it against her.

“We'll get you what you need,” he assured her. “Will we be seeing Alistair, at least?”

Her face went very still. The stare went on long enough to drive home that he'd somehow stuck his foot in it, and then she dropped her head, giving a small, humorless laugh. “If you do, let me know. It's been years.”

“I- I'm sorry, Isla. I didn't realize.”

“Don't worry. That's my lot in life, Cullen,” she declared flippantly, but hollow, turning on a heel. “I save the world and ruin mine. Thanks for your help, I'm going to go harass Leli.”

She waved a hand over her shoulder and tromped through the gate with a rattle of armor, hands clasping loosely behind her back again. Cullen frowned, watching her go. Why did those words sound so familiar? 'I saved the world and ruined mine.'

Had she said that to him before, and he'd forgotten?

No, it couldn't possibly be. He remembered everything Isla had ever said to him, from saving his life to giving him a verbal reaming with an arm across his throat that had stung for years. Oh, she'd been right, but he hadn't wanted to hear it.

Hopefully he wouldn't be on the receiving end of any more of her lectures- she'd apparently gotten much better at them.

Smiling to himself, Cullen shook his head and headed back into Skyhold.

Warden-Commander,

An Inquisition scout told me to send this here, they'd better have been telling the truth. We've got our hands full here. I've pulled in every single body I could find that was out on the road, and we closed things up like you commanded, but it was already too late. Warden-Constable Sigrun convinced me to take in a swathe of refugees that claimed they wanted to join up.

Turned out they were all mages. Not exactly a problem, but once they got here they started hemming and hawing about the actual joining. Also, turned out one of them was some sort of Tevinter cultist. He is now dead. Sadly, so is Warden Topher.

The rest of the mages claim they didn't know. They're down in the cells, but they've got food and bedding, and minimal rats. I understand that it is- or was until recently a war zone, but we risked conflict with the crown over them and I don't like being lied to. Thoughts?

Warden-Constable Howe

Nathaniel,

They know the way out of the cells, and it comes in a goblet.  
We're not an inn, they can Join or rot.

The cultists are apparently called Venatori. They all but destroyed the Orlesian garrison. I've got the remnants in my fist now, though they're property of the Inquisition at the moment. I'll be negotiating that. I'd say luckily the Inquisitor's family, but that actually makes it worse and not better in this instance.

If anyone hears the Call, you do whatever you have to in order to keep them from following.

Whatever you must.

I'm dead serious.

Orlais is going to be spread thin for a long while, but I've got a good man here, a Warden Blackwall, who was in Ferelden when the false Call came. I'm hoping he'll come with the conscripts and take them over and out of my hands, but he seems solitary.

If any of your mage prisoners come to their senses and survive the Joining, have Bethany take over their training, she'll handle any tempers just fine. I'll need you to handle these idiots here who thought that blood magic and blind obedience were a great fucking idea.

I've got a big-ass Darkspawn to kill. Again.

I'm going to be a while.

Isla

P.S. I located two more of ours down in the Deep Roads and left memorials. Neither identifiable, they were too old, but the Sisters marked the locations and so did I before we parted ways. They both made us proud before they died.

Pushing off from the ridiculously big chair, Evelyn sighed and headed down the stairs with as much dignity as she could muster. It was over and done with. She really shouldn't procrastinate such things, but Maker did she ever hate judging people.

Josephine met her at the bottom, scribbling away. “That was the last of the prisoners at current, Inquisitor.”

“Good,” Evelyn said simply, “I'm glad Isla agreed to take Dedrick off of my hands. Have you settled her properly?”

“The ah- Warden-Commander has declined the room we had set aside for her, Inquisitor. She will be staying at the riverside camp with her men,” Josephine said, apology in her voice.

Evelyn got the door for her out of habit, though her mind had momentarily blanked. Frowning as that sank in, she followed behind Josephine. “Did she find our hospitality lacking? Wait, _her_ men?”

“The Commander says that the Warden-Commander has taken command of the conscripted Orlesian Wardens, Inquisitor,” Josephine said delicately, crossing the floor. “It is not that she has refused our hospitality, per say, but that she is trying to encourage fellowship with her troops.”

Evelyn scowled, glancing over her shoulder at the heavy door as it swung closed. It wasn't that- she didn't disagree, but- “How incredibly high-handed. She couldn't even speak to me first?”

“I could not say, Inquisitor.”

“I don't have a problem with it, but I do have a problem with people presuming that to be the case and going behind my back,” Evelyn said, trying to sound calm instead of as prickly as she truly felt. Behind her back! And Cullen didn't even say that she was to be consulted before such a decision could be made? He just let Isla do as she liked?

“I think perhaps it is simply a case of forgotten formalities, Inquisitor,” Josephine said, her voice even and soothing, even if Evie didn't want to be soothed. “The Warden-Commander has been in the Deep Roads for quite some time, it seems. Even so, the Grey Wardens are not known for their adherence to etiquette.”

“She was raised a Lady, same as I,” Evelyn countered, and then breathed out an irritated sigh through her nose. “The Commander has no excuse.”

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

Glancing sidelong, Evelyn peered at Josephine, who was standing attentively behind her desk. They stared at one another for a few seconds, until Evie's lips quirked grudgingly into a smile. “Am I being that bad, Josephine?”

“Only a little, Evelyn. I agree it was a breech of etiquette, but such things do happen. Sometimes we need to vent a little when people go stomping all over the niceties.”

“And Maker did she stomp,” Evie sighed, reaching up and rubbing her forehead. “I need her here too much to pick a fight over it. I'll be nice when I remind her to at least _inform_ me about such things. What if I'd found out in front of the court?”

“Which is why I told you as soon as I found out,” Josephine replied mildly, and then smiled. “We are prepared to travel to Val Royeaux the day after tomorrow, Evelyn. And thank you again _so_ much for-”

“Truly, Josephine, it's the bare minimum of what I can do. I've told you once, and I'll tell you again- if my face and presence can be of use to you, politically or personally, I will be glad to. While we have this power, we _must_ do what we can to capitalize on it. If the worst happens- well, at least I will have done some good before I died.”

The words escaped without truly thinking about them, having been turning over in her mind so much that they came naturally. She didn't realize that she had in fact voiced it until she glanced up from the pretty flowers on Josephine's desk to her troubled face. Blinking, Evelyn forced a smile.

“I'm sorry. Such things are better left unsaid.”

“I- please do not apologize, Evelyn. Will your brother be joining us for this trip?”

“Max? I don't see why not. I suppose I should whip-round and see if anyone wants to go to Val Royeaux. I don't anticipate any fighting, except perhaps on the road. I'll go do that now.”

“Yes, Inquisitor. As soon as you know how many of your companions will be accompanying us, let me know so I may arrange lodgings.” Josephine said with a warm smile.

“By this evening, then.” Evelyn nodded and stepped back, annoyance soothed away. She still needed to have a talk with Isla, at least, but she thought she might know where to find her.

Today, however, she would take pity on Solas and not go shouting.

Evelyn took a small detour, pausing to watch Maximilian working. She knew after many years of experience that this was the absolute worst time to approach him unawares, so she remained at the bottom of the stairs until Vivienne noticed her, seated gracefully on the chaise near the windows. The light was excellent, so it was a bad time to interrupt.

There was nothing Max hated more than being interrupted while the light was good.

When Vivienne's eyes shifted to the side and met Evelyn's, she just gave a delicate shake of her head. No, no need to interrupt him now. She watched him work for a small time, though, amused by the smudge of paint on his ear and the side of his neck. They would likely still be there at dinner.

From this angle she could barely see the painting, but what she could see was coming along wonderfully. Not at all a surprise. Maximilian was truly gifted, and she knew that all the years of her and her brothers protecting him from having it taken away was not in vain.

Mother just didn't understand, she wasn't malicious.

Well...she could be.

Then again, so could Evelyn.

Right now, however, as she swept up the long spiral stairs, she was trying very hard _not_ to be malicious. Yes, Isla had been an utter boor and should have come to Evelyn, but she could be gracious about it. The doorway to the library beckoned, and she took another small detour.

Drifting along, fingers idly running on the railing, she peeked into Dorian's usual nook.

He was absorbed in a book, but glanced up easily enough when she rapped her knuckles on the side of a bookshelf. “Hmm?”

“I'm going to Val Royeaux the day after tomorrow to handle a pile of business, including Josephine finding a tailor willing to be bribed out here for our Halamshiral garb. Do you have any interest in coming?”

“If you're short on escort, you need not even ask,” he replied with a smile.

“I haven't asked anyone else yet, but Max and Josephine will be coming, and likely Vivienne,” she said, resting her chin against the corner of the shelf. “I was going to go to a parfumerie to pick up something for my sisters, and because I'm out of face cream.”

“And why do you think that might be an enticement to me?” he teased, and then raised an eyebrow at her awkward smile. “Evelyn?”

“I don't know how to buy presents for men,” she admitted, squinching her eyes closed so she couldn't see any mockery. “I need help. He's terribly good at buying presents, and I'm awful at it.”

“I'll come,” Dorian sighed, and then laughed as she opened her eyes and beamed at him. “But I highly doubt I have the same sort of interests as the Prince of Starkhaven.”

“Who else would I ask? Solas? Bull?” she pointed out, and smiled at his immediate scoff. “I suppose I might ask Max, but he'd just _tease_ me.”

“We can use him as a cart horse, at least, if he's not busy squiring around Josephine,” Dorian said absently, eyes back on his book. “Be on your way.”

“I wi- wait, what about Josephine?” Evelyn asked curiously, peering at Dorian. Dorian's expression immediately went blank, and he turned a page deliberately. “Dorian. Dorian!”

“Go away, nosy,” he ordered.

“Dorian,” she hissed.

He turned another page.

Evelyn stared at him as hard as she could, but knew in the end he would win. Huffing, offended, she turned on a heel with a swirl of her skirts and stomped back to the stairwell. Well, then she'd just have to pester her brother later. Or spy on him.

Reaching the top of the stairs, navigating the cramped, shadowy lair of Leliana's ravens, she eventually found exactly what she thought she might. Isla was perched in the single window that overlooked Leliana's table, arms crossed over her chest, eyes closed. One leg dangled inside, the other outside. It didn't look like a very comfortable perch, or an even remotely safe one, but Isla appeared to actually be asleep.

Leaving Leliana alone, in conversation with a scout, Evelyn passed by her with a nod and approached Isla. She was out of her silverite Warden's armor, dressed (much to Evelyn's disapproval) in patched and worn sleeveless leathers that looked to have seen much better days. Pausing awkwardly, Evelyn stared at her sleeping cousin.

If she tried to wake her, she might startle and fall out of the window. If she grabbed her, she might get struck for her trouble. If she-

Isla cracked open an eye. “Hey,” she said drowsily.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your nap,” Evelyn said by polite rote.

“You're fine, my body just has no idea what time it is,” Isla said with a yawn, stretching her arms over her head and arching her back. Evelyn resisted the urge to reach out and grab her before she tumbled out the window. Which she did not. Isla slumped back down, crossing her arms under her chest, foot swinging. “What can I do for you?”

“You're all sunburned,” Evelyn pointed out mildly, a faint smile touching her lips as Isla blinked in surprise and prodded her face. “Going to have better color in no time, though I wouldn't have picked that way to go about it.”

“Nugshit. Well, here come the freckles, I suppose.”

“Why didn't you come to me first before going and announcing you were in Command of the Wardens _I_ conscripted?” Despite all attempts at dignity and authority, her voice came out annoyed and a little petulant. “You _know_ how etiquette works, why did you go over my head like that?”

“I didn't think about it. I ran into Cullen, made him take me down to see them, and I just handled it, Evs. You're busy, I wasn't going to make a separate trip. Consider this me asking,” Isla said, rolling her eyes and stretching out her arm to examine it. “Shit, that's gonna get really red.”

It probably wasn't worth pushing, and pouting about it would be undignified. Annoyed, Evelyn relented. “You know Cullen?”

“Yeah. Kinloch Hold. Long time ago, during the Blight,” Isla said, head rolling to the side. “He helped me fight the Archdemon, along with the rest of the Templars that survived. And the mages.”

“He _did_?”

“Yes. I wouldn't press him about it too much, Evs. It was a bad time for all of us,” Isla said, fishing out a small knife and beginning to pare down a nail that looked recently broken. “And I'm sorry if I stepped on your toes. I've been working on my own for a long time. I'll forget things. I'm here, and I'm helping, and even if I'm not doing it the way you like, I'm doing my best.”

Evelyn sighed through her nose, finally giving a tip of her head in acknowledgment. “All right. Can I please get you in something less disreputable, though? We have Orlesian nobility here, for Andraste's sake, and they're going to want to gawk at the Hero of Ferelden. You look like a backalley pinchpurse.”

“My armor's being repaired, sorry. And yes, I need new leathers, but those are also being worked on,” Isla pointed out, glancing up as Leliana approached with a broad smile. “Hey. I got sunburn.”

“I warned you,” Leliana said tolerantly, with a smile so easy that it soothed the last of Evelyn's fretting.

She looked happy.

“Well, you're too long for my things, but I'll have Josephine rustle something up for you to wear for now,” Evelyn said with a long sigh. “I suppose you won't come with me to Val Royeaux.”

“Gross,” Isla said simply, and then laughed. “No dresses, Evie.”

“No dresses, sleeping on the ground, stomping around ignoring all rules of etiquette...”

“People change, Inquisitor Evelyn,” Isla teased with a crackly little laugh.

“I suppose they do,” Evelyn allowed, but grudgingly.

She'd never been terribly good at acknowledging that.

My Dear Evelyn,

Just a short letter tonight, I fear. It was a long, extremely busy day, I didn't even have time to sit to dinner with the family. Despite the stress, finding your letter waiting for me has washed it all away, so if you're tempted to stop writing me, just remember that it does bring joy.

Thank you for the sketch, though despite your wishes my favourite part of it isn't the pups, but getting to see your pretty self whenever I like.

It brings me some concern that you've asked me why I would possibly miss you, so much so that I feel I must explain. I miss you for a great many reasons. I'll give you a few now, but I think I'll save a few for future letters. If I list them all at once, you might grow tired of them.

I miss the way you smile when you've told one of your small jokes and you're waiting for someone to notice. I miss the way you run face-first into danger, and never leave a fight unfinished, even if you really, really should. I miss the way you pretend to be angry with me. Quite obviously, I'd think, considering how often I try to get you to be. You purse your lips in a particular way when I pull your hair that I very much enjoy.

I miss your sweet laugh. I miss seeing the sun set in the colors it brings to your hair, and the way it glows along your cheek. I miss the way you love the things you love so ferociously, ready to defend them to the death. I miss when I was one of those things.

Perhaps that's a bit too far, but I've already written it.

Don't be too angry with me.

Yours,

Sebastian


	31. Uncovering Old Things

The tankard that was slid in front of her was full of murky black, blessedly foul liquid.

Isla clasped her hands around it with a grateful sigh. Proper Dwarven ale. How did they get it? She was going to have to find whoever provisioned the bar and knife-gouge their name on the Chantry wall.

Tucked into a shadowy back corner table on the upper level of the tavern, she kept to herself behind a pillar, listening to the bard. It was nice to be out of the way. She still felt too exposed outside of the Stone. It was a quiet little corner with a murmur of life all around her, enveloping her in a weird shroud of life.

So many people- how strange.

Lifting her ale, she sipped at it, enjoying the dirty, murky burn. It'd taken her months to build up an immunity to the harsh stuff. Just like poison, you had to work at it.

“Now why are you lurking in the darkness?”

The teasing lilt made her smile. Leli. Her figure emerged from the shadows, carrying a wooden cup in both hands. Isla extended a foot and kicked out a stool. It was taken in one easy movement, Leli's smile easy as they both adjusted to the gloom.

“I'm too sober for lots of company yet. It's like a too-hot bath. I'm not up for just plunging in.”

“You're alone too much.”

“I do what I have to do,” Isla replied with a smile, lifting her tankard in salute and then tossing it back. When it thumped down, Leli peered into it dubiously. “Dwarven ale.”

“You have the worst taste, Isla,” Leliana laughed, leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

It felt so ordinary, so familiar that she clung to it, wrapping her arms tightly around Leliana, pressing her forehead into her shoulder. Stability of more than one kind. Her fingers dug in, and then relaxed, and she let out a faint, wavering sigh. “I can't help it, I've gotten a taste for the stuff.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Leli asked with a laugh, leaning back from her. “I'm so glad you came. I know how important your mission has been to you-”

“It's important for me to get out- I was down there way too long,” she admitted, voice cracking. “I started to think I was hearing _it_. I know I wasn't, but traveling alone for weeks was...it's not good for the mind.”

“You shouldn't go back alone,” Leliana said, disapproving. “That was reckless. When you left the Sisters you should have gone back to Orzammar or come up.”

“I didn't feel like I had a choice at the time, but- I guess you're right. You're right,” she allowed with a sigh. “There's a difference traveling alone above ground than there is in the Deep Roads. I just thought I was getting close-”

“Try not to think about it, at least for a little while. I think some time free of your obsession might be good for you.”

“Obsession?” she asked mockingly, laughing at Leliana's faint smile. “That's rude.”

“But not inaccurate. I'll make you a deal. You stay for a while, and I will convince the Inquisitor that your research should have use of our resources. You never know. We might turn up something that you just don't have the manpower to.”

Well, that was fair enough. It'd help if she could get into contact with Weisshaupt, but that wasn't happening, so anything would be welcome. “I just feel like I've gotten so _close_ a few times, and then boom. Dead end. Maybe I shouldn't have killed the Architect. I don't know. If the Call can be stopped...”

“Speaking of stopping. What did I just say? Obsession,” Leliana said with a smile, accpeting her wine as it was set down.

“Mmh, okay. Fine. Cullen. I thought he was dead. How come you didn't tell me he was the Commander?”

“Well, I wasn't certain what to think of it at first. I thought Cassandra might have made a poor choice,” Leliana admitted, and then laughed. “Sometimes I still think she might have. But since we have dealt with the conflict between the Templars and mages, we are butting heads less. Having a leader helps. He listens to Evelyn.”

“She's always been good at that. Some of us had to work at getting people to listen to us,” Isla said with a small, distant smile. “I guess it's stark for me, because the last time I saw him was after we killed the Archdemon.”

“Yes, he was sent to Kirkwall after that.”

“I heard,” she said, glancing sidelong with a purse of her lips. It was hard not to be annoyed that she'd been left out of the loop, even if it was with the best intentions. “Why didn't you ever write me of everything that happened in Kirkwall? You knew I'd find out eventually.”

“I knew you'd blame yourself,” Leliana said quietly, and then gave a long sigh. “You always do.”

Defeated by the simple truth, Isla threw up a hand helplessly, letting it thump back on the table knuckles-first. “I- I don't know. Should I have left Justice in that swamp? Should I have kept them apart? Any other Commander would have immediately destroyed Justice. Poor spirit was just trying to help. Should I have sent Anders away? I could have handed him to the Templars.”

“That would have made it worse,” Leli said.

“Maybe. At the time, though. Yes, I would have blamed myself. You're right. I just kept thinking about Cullen being forced to stand as executioner over these poor mages' Harrowings, and what I saw in the Fade? And I don't know, Leli. Maybe I should be grateful the world doesn't know everything I've done. I need another ale.”

“Maybe something a bit-”

Rising to her feet, Isla strode to the bannister, peering down at the tavern floor below.

“ANOTHER!” Isla demanded, lifting her tankard to the Dwarven barkeep. He gave her a taciturn nod of understanding in response. Leliana sighed, amused.

“What am I supposed to do with you, Isla?”

“Braid my hair and tell me stories,” Isla replied with a cheeky little smile, returning and slumping back into her seat. “Anyways, it's becoming increasingly obvious that Cullen does not at _all_ remember the last time I saw him, and I'm starting to find it funny.”

Leliana stared at her a few moments, before understanding dawned. “You _didn't_.”

Isla slowly smiled with feline contentment. “Didn't I?”

“Maker, you are the worst,” she groaned, with laughter in her voice. “I don't even know if you should tell him or not.”

“It was literally nothing. Trousers down skirt up- if either of us had been wearing a skirt, which we were not- in an alcove about fifty feet from the feast while Anora was making her speech. I was piss drunk and miserably self-destructive and he was interested. And also very drunk. You know my state at the time, and everyone was celebrating. I hated that they were celebrating.”

“I always hated that you saved Ferelden and couldn't even enjoy it.”

“I'm not mad at Ali. I just wish he could come back. I sort of feel like the only reason I'm still Warden-Commander and not handed it off to Howe is because I want Amaranthine to be there if he ever crawls out of a bottle and comes home. Anora won't dare kick _me_ out yet,” Isla said, with a faint smile. “It's not love. It's worry for someone I cared about once.”

Like always, thinking of Alistair brought up a mire of old misery, centered on a choice she'd felt so righteous in making. But there were no right choices. Just choices. As long as you thought about people, above all else, that was the best you could do.

At least the emotions were faded now, worn-in and sun-spotted, like clothes left out too long on the line.

“I just wish you wouldn't put your hopes on people who have failed you.”

Isla smiled. “You know me. I always think people can turn their lives around. Not everyone will agree.”

“You have a good heart,” Leli reached out with a smile and tucked hair behind her ear, fingers lingering gently. “You're my best friend, my sister, and you always will be. You are also an idiot.”

“That's fair,” Isla laughed, elbows hitting the table. The tankard was thumped down, and she reached for it, cradling it between her arms, fingers lacing together. “I gave Cullen a pretty obvious 'we could acknowledge it' ins and he was as blank as an Orlesian mask so I'm pretty sure he doesn't remember.”

“Dare I ask?” Leliana asked, laughing.

“Well, I said I could use a man like him under me,” she said, smiling when Leliana's laughter turned more sharp.

“You didn't!”

“I did. Nothing at all. Right over his pretty head.”

“Oh no,” Leliana sighed, resting her cheek in her hand. The smile was so easy that it lightened Isla's heart, a moment passing between them free of all of the years gone by. “Don't tell me you're interested.”

“I've been in the Deep Roads! Maker's breath. I need something between my thighs, Leli! I may have watched him overseeing some training earlier and I found it _very_ interesting.”

“Isla,” Leliana protested with a soft laugh. “He's- you don't understand.”

“So educate me. Don't pretend you're above gossip, salroka. It's half your job. If I need saving from a bad idea, you have a moral duty to tell me.” The tankard was slung back, pouring down her throat like silt and cleansing fire. It felt good.

“There may have been an...ill advised infatuation on Cullen's part,” Leliana admitted, very quietly.

“Oooh. Do tell.”

“Evelyn,” Leliana said simply, and then laughed at her grimace. “What?”

“Does he still have all his innards?”

“It was uncomfortable. Considering her history, I suppose I understand why she reacted so poorly.”

“History?” Isla asked blankly. “I mean, keep in mind we're not really close, we'd see each other maybe once or twice a year back until Highever fell. I just remember Thomas- Nathaniel's little brother, if you remember, had an awful crush on her and she was merciless about it. 'I'm marrying Sebastian and you're just a dumb smelly boy'. Vicious.”

“Maybe a more mature version of that,” Leliana said with a soft chuckle. “There's a song about how many men she's refused. It's become very popular in Orlais. It's the sort of tale they enjoy. Apparently many of her suitors ended up thrown into a river. She doesn't deny any of it, which is what I mean when I say 'history'.”

“Oh, Evs. That sounds like her. Her whole family is very, uh- to the point.”

“Yes. Forthright is putting it mildly,” Leliana laughed, pausing as a scout appeared from around a pillar, hovering at the edge of their vision. Leli sighed.

“Go, it's fine. I can amuse myself, really,” Isla said, waving a hand dismissively.

“I will see you soon. Don't you dare disappear,” Leli said sternly, and then laughed at her gesture of defeat.

Watching Leliana go, Isla smiled and lifted her tankard, taking another long draught.

Drifting along aimlessly, Evelyn's mind wandered yet again over the slim letter that had been waiting for her.

'I miss when I was one of those things.'

Maker, when did he get so sentimental? The curve of her lips brought her fingers to wander along the edges of her smile, wondering what exactly it was he found so entrancing there. How could he say such things- or write such things so easily? It made her feel inadequate.

It made her feel odd and bitter and strange.

But happy.

A shout from down below pulled her from her musing meandering along the battlement. A soft smile touched her lips as she gazed down, the lights from the tavern spilling down on the targets Sebastian had been using for his training. There was a gathering there, loud and raucous.

She leaned over the stone battlement, braid spilling over her shoulder as she stared down at them.

“No!” a voice from below demanded, making her blink and rear back.

Isla.

“I'm only watching,” she protested, everything a dark blur with gold edges at this distance. “What are you doing?”

“Throwing knives! What if we hit you?” A drunken slur to her voice, rousing a smile.

“Then I would admire your skill,” she said cooly, hiding a smile at the raucous laughter. “For I'm quite high up.”

“Stop being Lady-in-the-Tower and come down,” Isla demanded.

Sighing, still drifting in a mire of strange muddled emotions, Evelyn made her way to the stairs. She idly ran both hands down her braid, twisting it back and forth, skirts swirling around her ankles. Padding down the stairs at a bounce, ignoring the vaguely uncomfortably jostling of her chest, she swept down to greet the minor crowd at the targets.

The targets bristled with knives.

“Dare I ask why?” she inquired, flinging her braid past her shoulder.

“Why not? This is how I pass the time when I've nothing else to do,” Isla said, turning away from a contingent of soldiers. Evelyn pretended that she didn't notice her presence making them shift uneasily.

There was no one else here, not really. There was Max, who was unsuitable, and Vivienne, who was sensible, and she needed neither of their wise councils tonight.

She needed an idiot, like her.

“Isla, come here,” Evelyn demanded, darting in to pull her from the throng, away from the gleaming lights of the tavern.

“The fuck?” The sputter was full of humor at least, and Evelyn watched as the crowd uneasily dispersed. She unfortunately seemed to have a talent for that.

She might inspire, but she didn't seem to make the soldiers comfortable.

Isla was dressed more appropriately now, in a loose linen shirt and high-waisted leather trousers. It made her all the taller, looming over Evelyn as she drew her away. The braid demanded a tug, which only garnered her a sputter and a whip of Isla's head as they hit the bottom of the battlement stairs.

Far enough away.

They were lit by a single torch, perched on the wall above them.

“Why are you being so sweet?” Isla demanded as she swayed in against her side, laughing. “Evelyn!”

“I am not being sweet,” she retorted, shoving the letter at her cousin. “Read that. I don't know what to make of it.”

Giving her a bemused smile, Isla unfolded the letter with one hand, the other still idly turning over the knife. Holding it close, she squinted. “You sure you want me to read this?”

“Well I would make Violette do it, but she's not here,” Evelyn pointed out, resting her chin on Isla's shoulder. “Just do so. I need help.”

“I am,” Isla muttered, scanning the short letter. “Pretty standard soppy love letter, Evs. Cute. I don't know your Prince, but it seems sincere enough. What's there not to understand?”

“Is he trying to manipulate me?”

Isla gave her a strange look. Blindly, she abruptly flung the knife in her hand, Evelyn starting as it hit the vastly distant target with a loud 'thud'. Maker, what a throw. Pulling back, Isla turned to face her. “Manipulate you? Why would you be feeling like that? I thought you wanted to marry him. You're not being forced, are-”

“No! I meant-” Evelyn sighed, well aware that she was going to say this all entirely wrong. “Yes, I want to marry him, but he is _refusing_ to have it over and done with. He made me agree that he could court me, and he talks about winning my friendship, and I'm just- it feels like I am being manipulated. It's very emotional.”

Isla's bemused look only grew more confused, staring down into her eyes. Slowly, pointedly, she raised an eyebrow and held the stare. “Emotion isn't manipulation. I'm pretty sure no one _makes_ you do anything, Evs.”

“Well, yes, I just meant-” Flustered, she stalled, lifting her hands to rub at her eyes fretfully. “I don't know _what_ I meant. But it made me feel strange, and I am not certain why, and I am feeling about ten different things and I cannot untangle them.”

“I remember those three weeks you spent in Highever after he proposed. You waffled between declaring vengeance and brooding miserably. Have you forgiven him?”

The simple question stalled her, and she glanced up at Isla's face. Frowning, Evelyn gave a small shake of her head. Isla was safe, she didn't know, she wasn't attached. She'd never even met Sebastian. “No. How can I? He doesn't even know all the things he's done to hurt me. The things he's done to hurt Max. Why should I forgive him?”

“If he doesn't know what he's done, why don't you tell him?” Isla persisted mildly.

“Because-” Evelyn stalled again, reluctant, shame overtaking her.

How could she say this in a way that didn't make her sound like a petulant child?

“Do you _want_ to forgive him?” Isla asked, highly amused now. “Sure doesn't sound like it.”

Dropping her head, Evelyn sighed, lifting a hand to her forehead. She wouldn't have even spoken of things before now if Max hadn't forced them out of her, if Sebastian hadn't wanted to speak. She would have never said a word. And yet, no one else knew the things she still held inside of her, so she couldn't count on anyone else to force her to bring them to light.

“Not really,” she admitted, enduring the laugh that garnered her. “Maker, I am a grown woman, aren't I? I'm so childish.”

“It is a little childish, Evie, but we were all children once, and the habits can linger. Listen, I'm a string of failed relationships in an Isla-shaped sack, okay? I don't know how to make them work. I can't help you. But I know a lot about forgiveness, and I'll tell you this. It's not for him, it's for you. If you make it about him, you're going to hang onto it forever, and it's gonna get poisonous. Forgiveness doesn't mean trust, it just means accepting it for what it was and understanding why, and then letting it become another lesson you've learned.”

“Why are you so wise and I'm so foolish?” Evelyn sighed, slumping. The letter was handed back to her, and she took it in both hands, staring down at it.

“Wise? Don't put that shit on me. Speaking of how stupid I am, you'd be fine with me seducing your Commander, right?”

“What?” Evie asked, glancing up with a slight wrinkle of her nose. She took a few seconds to search her too-full mind, and then allowed. “I don't see why not, unless you planned to do it in the middle of a battle, then I might have an issue. Do you think I'd be upset over that?”

“No, but other people might presume you did,” Isla laughed, smile broadening into a grin.

Evelyn rolled her eyes, disgust rising. Of course. Maker, people could be so idiotic. She could see exactly what Isla meant by that, of course she should be petty and jealous over a bloody man she didn't even want. “Oh, aye. Because I'm known for stringing men along- oh wait, no. No I'm not.”

“Known for throwing them in the river, I hear!” Isla laughed.

“Oh no,” Evelyn groaned, dropping her head and shaking it. “Don't tell me you've heard it? I specifically banned the bard from singing it. I swear, if I hear a single note-”

“No, Leli just mentioned it. Don't worry. Another 'hero' will come along and they'll stop singing about you,” Isla reassured her, reaching out and clasping her shoulder, rubbing a thumb along it. “They always forget us eventually.”

“I'm not certain that's reassuring,” Evelyn said, nose wrinkling.

“Yeah, I know,” Isla laughed. “It isn't meant to be, it's a warning. Listen, Evs. What do you need to do to start unwrapping this? Start there.”

It was the one thing she didn't want to do, more than anything.

More than everything.

“I have to speak to my brother,” she acknowledged, weakly.

“Good luck,” Isla said, lips quirking up to the side. “I'm gonna go see if your Qunari friend wants to balance an apple on his head while I throw knives at it.”

“I'm certain he'll enjoy that,” Evelyn sighed, and then smiled faintly at the emphatic smack of lips on her cheek. It wasn't her accustomed sort of affection, but it was nice. Watching Isla wander back into the tavern, meddling little matchmaker thoughts came back to the fore.

Well, she had been thinking of cousins to try and introduce Cullen to- she just hadn't expected it to be Isla.

_Hmm._

Nervous, Evelyn stalled at the door.

She was tempted to just burst her way in and avoid all the necessity of announcing herself. When they were children there was no thought for privacy. Most of the time, despite mother's wishes, they'd shared beds, curled up together like puppies. Father had allowed it.  
As they grew up, they'd grown out of it, but they'd still infringe on each other's space without even a thought spared.

And yet, in this moment, she felt awkward. The problem was, knocking would do little, and the floors were stone. It hindered his ability to feel, to know when someone was coming. For anyone else, his space would be sacrosanct. For her, it was ordinarily all right.

She hesitated.

It was guilt, of course it was. She knew that well enough.

The door was cracked, and she peered through it, fingers splaying against rough wood. The light was soft and warm, enough that she knew he was still awake and active. A press of her hand increased the space, until she was able to slither through.

Much to her relief, she was met by a thick rug. Someone had been thoughtful enough to think of his needs then- probably Josephine. To her left, a large wooden clothes press blocked her view, a bed no doubt behind it. Ahead of her, in the slightly circular front of the room, a desk. Her brother seated at it, stubbled cheek in his hand, writing. His eyes were miles away, even from this sidelong vantage.

Who was he writing to so intently, at this hour?

Stone floors would give some indication, but a rug was much, much better. She settled on the floor just inside the cracked door, slowly closing it with her foot, and lightly tugged on the edge of the rug. Gently at first, and then more and more noticeably. A slow alarm.

She saw the instant he recognized an approach, so in tune with his movements, and then when he acknowledged her, a sidelong glance and a tip of his head. When he glanced at where she would be standing, he smiled, and then his eyes drifted down to find her. She forced a smile of her own.

His hands deliberately hid what he was writing to the side, siding it out of her view before he signed. “Hedgehog?”

“Frog-face,” she signed back, feeling her smile crack.

“What trouble of the world has brought so much woe?”

“Who are you writing?” she asked, and then laughed quietly at his dismissive sign. “Time was you told me everything.”

“Time was I didn't have the choice, Evie. You've given me the freedom to have a life that doesn't center around everyone knowing everything,” he signed back, and then laughed silently at her woebegone look. “It's a good thing, wee poppet.”

“It feels like I'm losing you.”

“This should have happened a long time ago, Evie. It would have, if you'd left for Starkhaven.”

“And then you'd be forced into the Chantry,” she retorted with brusque signs.

He glanced down at the table for a long moment, and then reached up, brushed his hair out of his face, and signed simply, “Aye.”

“When you thought I'd died,” she signed hesitantly, falling silent at the cut of his hand through the air.

“We'll never speak of it again. We won't go through it again.”

The tears spilled freely, unbidden. “But if I-”

“No, Evie.” His hand moved harsh and quickly, and then pinched at the bridge of his nose, wiping away moisture, the sight wavering with her own tears. “We won't go through it again. You're going to be fine.”

When he slumped off the chair, she closed the space, knee-crawling over to curl against his side. Arms wrapped around her, safe and secure. Max kissed the top of her head, and she forced a smile that cracked with the edges of her heart. She tried to fight off words, tiny twitches of fingers and wrist, an admission that seemed to tremble along her nerves like a demand of her heart that bypassed her mind.

She couldn't deny it forever.

“I lied to you.”

“Hmm?”

“It was Sebastian's birthday. We were fifteen. I went to go find him to demand a dance,” she felt him breathe in against her ear, but gratefully didn't need to look at his face to speak. “And I- I found him with a pack of those _awful_ boys. I heard them say the worst things. Absolutely foul. Horrible.”

“Oh, Evie.”

“He said things about you. I thought he was our friend, all that time, but the things he said- all the things I hated, that I fought against, that I thought he _understood_ how much they hurt. He said the worst things about you. I could forgive him anything but that.” Her hand was shaking, clumsy, and as she tried to keep signing, he reached up and gently clasped it.

“It wasn't about us,” he signed simply with his other hand.

She fought her way free, stubbornly. “Of course it was! He was talking about us! Of course it was about us! Don't you understand? He wasn't ever our friend, and I hate- I tried to keep it from you for so long, I lied, because you cared so much about him and-”

Her hand was silenced again, caught in his fingers, squeezed and brought to his lips.

“Hedgehog. It wasn't about us. It was _never_ about us. Sooner or later, I hear everything people say about me. Reading lips can be a curse. I've heard every damn thing you've ever tried to hide from me.”

“No, no, no,” she denied, collapsing into a puddle as he held her close. “I won't let them, I won't-”

A hand cradled around hers, holding it for a few moments as he gently rocked her in place, before freeing itself. “It wasn't about us. I have a whole list of people that I will never forgive, and he was never on it. He made some bad friends because he wanted to feel accepted.”

“Why weren't we good enough?” she asked weakly.

His lips pressed to her head again, arms tightening. “Because we couldn't give him what he wanted, I suppose. We were allowed. I was an outcast and you were the annoying girl he was promised to.”

She made a sound of angry protest, squirming, but he ignored it.

“It wasn't ever about us. It was about him, and his family. He was our friend, he just got lost, hedgehog. For a while he drowned in things that were bad for him. I may not have heard the things he said about you, or me, but I felt them. You tend to keep blinders on. I don't need to know what he said. I trust and believe in my brother.”

“I don't know if I can,” she admitted, slowly.

“That's up to you. But don't let it have anything to do with me,” Max said, hand lifting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Hedgehog. We're not all good all of the time. Sometimes we're terrible.”

“I'm not,” she denied stubbornly.

His look of disbelief was all that needed to be said.

Dear Sebastian,

Your supply train arrived today. Guess what else has? Isla!

How strange to think my wee cousin has become this great figure of history- when it was happening, I didn't quite know what to think. I wanted, more than anything, to go to Ferelden to fight back the Darkspawn, to defeat those who murdered my family, but mother simply wouldn't allow it. I regret now I didn't go.

I think we could have been greater friends than some childhood memories.

Still, she is here, and she is loud and brash and uncompromising, and I find I admire her very much. Even if she ignores politeness. Even if she has made some things very difficult for me. Even if she keeps saying things in what I think is Dwarven, and I don't understand her.

Josephine finally told me that it was you that had those lovely new dresses made for me, and not her, and I feel I must scold you for not informing me. I finally remembered to thank her and she was amused. You're extremely rude. Thank you.

Why did she smile at me and pretend we had other business when I asked if you had sent anything for me?

Oh, I see there's a letter from you. I shall finish this after I read it, then.

~~I'm sorry.~~

I need time to write, and the messenger leaves in the morning. There will be a longer missive following this one. I have some things to say.

Evelyn


	32. In the Dark of Night

Sebastian,

Maximilian is insisting I write this. I myself would rather not, but here we are. Isla said forgiveness is for me, not for you, and I'm uncertain what to think of that idea, but it sounds sensible enough. If strange.

I'm not certain if I'm ever going to forgive you. But then again, I thought my hatred had so much momentum behind it that it was like stone, immutable, cold, and hard. I suppose even stone can be worn down and broken, though. Be patient with me if this letter rambles. I'm trying my best.

I feel silly. It seems that in trapping myself in these feelings for you, in letting them fester and become such a part of my heart and mind that it's become a sort of childish obsession. It's a very unflattering thing for a grown woman to act like a child, to throw tantrums and fits. I think that was why I was so upset when you said I was gentle.

I have always felt as if gentleness were a childish thing.

Perhaps I never told Maximilian what you said about him because I knew he would not be angry, as I thought he should be. I was angry for him because I did not trust that he would understand the depths of the betrayal. I had thought you were the last person in the world who would hurt Max. But you did.

And he forgave you, because he spends a great deal of time forgiving the people around him for being inconsiderate, or cruel, or for not understanding him. I wish he didn't have to. I wish that things were fair, and my brother could simply be himself and the world would accept it and love him as I love him.

I suppose now you are confused.

We shall have it out plainly.

I heard you once say some terrible, awful things about Maximilian, when we were young. And about me, that were terribly crude, but that hurt me a great deal less. That hurt my pride. The things that were said about Maximilian broke my heart. You likely don't even remember. I'd imagine for the few things I heard, there were hundreds more that I did not.

I won't repeat them, because they were the crass brayings of a teenage boy looking for attention from his peers. That was very cutting. I'm quite proud of that sentence, actually, and I feel it's justified. Please do admire it, no one else is going to see this letter so you must.

I loved you so entirely that I thought perhaps it was a mistake, that you would see how upset I was and come beg for my forgiveness. You would pull my hair and demand I smile for you. Like you had before.

Like you did when we were young.

You only got worse. I waited a whole year for you to snap out of it, to apologize wholeheartedly, and with every day that passed and it did not come, my heart grew smaller, and colder, and harder. And then? Maker, this feels shameful to admit. Who knew that in telling you what you should be sorry for that I would reveal something so unflattering about myself?

It was the last, pathetic little hope of that girl who loved you that died in that bed, Sebastian. I truly thought it might fix things. That love could bring back the boy that I loved so dearly. Like a story.

Instead we ripped apart our storybook future because we were two supremely flawed, ridiculous creatures. People, instead of characters. I never realized you weren't one until that night, I think. If there is an apology to be made on my side, it is that. I'm sorry I put you on a pedestal, and refused to see who you were, that you were hurting and you needed help.

I loved someone who you weren't any more.

So that's it, I think. I can't forgive you because you never knew why you were sorry. Because I didn't tell you. I didn't tell anyone. I didn't want to entertain the thought of forgiveness.

I understand now why it happened, how it happened, and why you were so cruel. Maximilian says I mayn't hold onto grudges for him, and I feel that's very unfair of a thing for him to say to his sister, but it is his choice. So I suppose all I'm left with are my reasons, which I must say are completely acceptable reasons to be angry.

The idea of forgiveness being for me is a strange one. I always thought it was a gracious gift given to others. I'm not quite ready yet. But at least I can be honest and show you the thorn in my heart. What you do with this knowledge is for you to decide, I suppose.

I'm leaving for Val Royeaux in the morning.

I hope you are safe. Give my love to Agnes and Liam and the children.

-Evelyn

When the attack came, Sebastian was incredibly grateful to have it out at last.

They'd been forewarned something might be attempted by a pilfered coded message that had appeared on Sebastian's desk after the study's daily cleaning. Sebastian hadn't been able to make heads or tails of it, but that was why he had a spymaster. Unfortunately, the note hadn't told them _when_.

It'd been nearly four nights of fretful, uneasy sleep before his bedroom was breached.

The long knife that usually resided in his right boot was under the pillow, a familiar weight. He couldn't seem to sleep without having a hand on it. A paranoia that paid dividends.

Going from half-asleep to wide awake with a screaming clamoring of instincts, he threw himself off of the bed before he even realized why. He must have seen the shadow, heard a movement, but he couldn't even feel the pain as a cold slash across his shoulder missed its target. He fell to the floor, hip-first, and then onto his back, knife in hand.

The pain could come later.

Scrabbling to his feet, he staggered backwards just in time to avoid another strike from the shadowy figure, deflecting it with his knife. Instincts told him to fight, but his mind was functional now, and it knew what had to be done- he had to flee. The light from the banked fire in his study was a beacon, gleaming through the crack he habitually left.

It was foolish to turn his back, but he knew his strengths, and fending off a skilled assassin with only a knife was not one of them.

There was a muffled shout behind him as he turned and fled, slamming his injured shoulder into the door. The pain of the impact finally stabbed through his shock, a lightning-strike of agony that he forced his way through. Something struck him in the back of the thigh, turning his leg to a dead weight. He staggered.

Into the study he nearly fell, hearing shouting from the hall that brought a wave of relief with it. Again, in a fit of paranoia, he'd left a bow strung, leaning against the chair before the fire. Not the Bow of Starkhaven, he wouldn't subject it to such abuse, but still a perfectly functional weapon. Another throwing knife, likely akin to the one in his leg, went whistling by and thudded against the outside door-

Not into, but against; he watched it all but bounce off and clatter to the floor.

The door had somehow been sealed, then. Bloody magic.

Scooping up the bow and quiver with a noisy rattle of arrows, he dropped the knife and spun, nearly falling as his leg tried to give out again, blood trickling down the back of his thigh. A blackened knife slashed at the space between them, closing it too quickly for him to draw the bow. Instead he swung the limb into the hooded, masked assassin's face, forcing some space between them.

A kick would have done better, but he couldn't trust himself not to collapse.

Two strikes, three, the knife gouging into the wood of the bow, and he gained just enough space. He'd fired so many arrows in his life that his fingers knew exactly how much time, how much space, calculations sunk into bone and blood as surely as the arrow sank into the assassin's unseen eye. It was over quickly.

“I will pray for you,” he muttered as the body thudded heavily to the floor, another arrow nocked and ready.

There was pounding on the door behind him, the shouts of his guards. He could only hope that the mage was too occupied with sealing the door to levy any attacks. Blindly, he fired through the half-open study door into his bedroom, and heard the arrow crack into a piece of furniture. Another knife flew from the darkness, and he barely dodged it, feeling it score a line on his upper arm. A line that burned, a prickling heat.

Poison.

But the assassin had given away his position.

The arrow flew after the knife barely without a thought, and he heard the strangled cry as it impacted. He sent another after it, and then another, blind but hopeful. One struck the floor, but one thudded into something he knew was flesh. Unfortunate that it was a familiar sound.

There was a flash in the darkness, a glow of magic that rose, and he hastily drew another arrow. All for nothing, however, as the door finally burst open behind him and knights and guardsmen poured in. He was pulled into the hall before he could get a look at the face of the mage in the distance, nothing more than the angles of a face lit by strange white-blue light.

And then he was staggering into the corridor with bodies blocking him out of his own space, feeling the burning in his arm growing, like tentacles of fire reaching deeper.

“Your High-”

“Sebastian!” Liam's voice, and his grip steadying Sebastian as he staggered, bow falling from his rapidly numbing hand. “Maker keep you- you were right. We're all right, I was waiting for them when they broke into our room, Agnes is all right.”

“Where is Zevran? What about the children?”

He was starting to have trouble focusing as adrenaline crashed and pain began to make itself known, survivable but agonizing. What was happening to his arm, however, that would likely not be survivable.

“He's- I say, Sebastian, hold on. Maker, you're white as a sheep on shearing day.”

“Poisoned,” he managed to get out.

Then the shouting began anew, but his head was too muddy for it. Luckily there were hands to hold him upright, and eventually force something disgusting on him that burned its way into him like cleansing fire. It hurt, but when it passed through him, he found his senses returning.

Blinking rapidly, he forced his eyes open, and his vision swam back together.

“It could have gone much worse,” Zevran told him with a cheeky grin, hands carefully clasped on his arms to keep him upright. “You only let them put one knife in you, hmm?”

“They tried a few more,” he said weakly. “The children?”

“I kept them safe,” Zevran assured. “There was only one, I suspect they did not anticipate much difficulty in murdering sleeping children.”

“Aye, he kept the youngest safe, but they must have another mage-” Liam began.

A door burst open down the hall, and fury herself stomped out, wielding a bloody sword and shield, deep brown hair in a wildly disheveled braid. There was a rather artful spray of blood across the front of her simple nightgown.

“Are there any more of th'bastards?!” Cecilia demanded in a bellow, the guards in the hall rushing in around her, into the room. She scowled as they pushed her out of the way, turning on a heel. “I already handled it! What good are y'anyways?!”

“Cecy,” Liam declared, exasperation warring with relief.

“Told us to be good and quiet. Good and quiet!” she retorted in a fury, as her younger sisters were herded out after her, in various states of arming and wakefulness. “I'll tell you what's good and quiet, a mage with a shield in his face! Good an' fuckin' quiet!”

“Cecilia!” Liam retorted, but with a laugh in his voice.

“Ah, sir, is your daughter single?” Zevran chuckled, and then lifted both hands defensively as they both immediately turned and glared at him. “It was only a question!”

“She learned how to kill from me,” Liam replied stonily.

“Message received.” Zevran left, immediately ducking into the room the older girls had been occupying. Maker was he grateful they'd been underestimated.

“Your Highness.”

Sebastian's eyes snapped over to the Knight-Commander, drawing himself up as best he could. There was still a knife in his leg. Best not to remove it until it could be immediately seen to, but it still made it difficult to be dignified. As soldiers filtered out and began heading down the corridors, led with shouts, the Knight-Commander gave a small shake of his head.

“The mage escaped,” Sebastian surmised, unsurprised. He wouldn't have dropped the lock on the door without having a way out. “I should have taken him out first but they had me blinded, I w-”

“No one is blaming _you_ , your Highness,” the Knight-Commander interrupted dryly.

“Nor you,” Sebastian assured him with a nod of his head. “Everyone survived.”

“We should have posted guards inside-”

“And then they would have known that we knew,” Sebastian interrupted. “Now paranoia is justified. Have Lord Mackeroy make sure the 'gossip' filters out quickly that an assassination attempt was defeated with scarcely even a single injury. Please make sure it is noted that they tried to kill _children_.”

The Knight-Commander's face went grim. “Immediately, your Highness. The healer is coming.”

Sebastian nodded with as much composure as he could, holding as still as possible. The thin slice in his arm was clotted over, but his shoulder and thigh still seeped blood. He wasn't going to be good for much for a while. Hopefully they didn't have the resources to mount a second attack.

“How many mages?”

“Two in total. One survived,” Zevran said promptly. “Six assassins besides. Three to handle the Prince, two his heir, and one to murder small children in their beds. Tsk. Politics.”

“Dirty business,” Sebastian agreed.

And then the healer arrived, and conversation had to be delayed while they had their wounds seen to. Even Zevran hadn't made it out entirely intact- amusingly only Cecelia had avoided taking any injuries in her fight. Granted, she'd been fighting a mage, but he wasn't going to go pointing that out to his justifiably proud niece.

Once the knife had been safely removed and he'd managed to down a potion that was even worse than the antidote Zevran had force-fed, if such a thing were possible, Sebastian was drained.

Four days of poor sleep and loss of blood made for a miserable combination. Luckily, having been prepared in advance for this attack meant that they had plans in place already to deal with the aftermath. He could let things happen as they would happen on their own. And rest.

Unfortunately, it seemed his mind wasn't quite ready to return to the bedroom, for he balked on the threshold, heart starting to pound. There was nothing for it. His nerves needed rest as much as his body and mind.

To help calm his mind, he wrote to Evelyn before falling asleep in his chair.

Having it out of his mind and onto paper helped.

My Dear Evelyn,

Before it comes to you through some other channel, there was an assassination attempt tonight. Everyone is fine. We were anticipating it. I would have written to you of it when we uncovered it, but sadly any leaks at all and we could have tipped our hand.

Everyone is perfectly fine. The youngest children weren't even woken by the attempt. Zevran was good enough to meet him at the nursery window and tip him back out before they even saw a body. They were all very confused at being woken up by the shouting. Cecilia's as much of a lioness as her aunt is, I was impressed.

It was, in fact, Venatori. I commend Leliana for her information gathering, she was very correct. The assassins were Crows, I presume hired for the job. I was attacked, and yes, I realize my handwriting is a bit shaky at the moment, but I am fine. I just need to rest and eat well.

Liam is fine, and Agnes is fine as well.

We now have an excuse for rampant paranoia, so I'll be posting guards in every bloody room. It won't happen again. I suppose I should be grateful they forced my hand so, it'll make this investigation move much more quickly. I still plan to see you at Halamshiral.

I'm glad that Isla is with you, it can only help your cause to have the Hero of Ferelden at your side. I'm certain having a strong hand to guide the remaining Grey Wardens will help reassure some people as well. The siege at Adamant is starting to filter into the gossip, and it's causing some conflicting opinions. I always forget how quickly information travels.

I suppose that is why we keep spymasters.

I'm glad you like the dresses, I quite honestly only paid for them, I can't claim to know a thing about what goes into the making and picking colors and styles. I just know you needed something pretty and frivolous. I don't think that's ever something to be ashamed of, sweetheart. I know you felt guilty over it, but please don't. Small joys keep the heart from getting too heavy.

Speaking of small joys, Agnes will be sending the youngest back to Ostwick after the attack, at my insistence. Your eldest brother and his best men are coming to fetch them and accompany them back. I know that will soothe some of your worries.

I regret that this might make you worry at all, but I'd rather you heard it from me.

I'm grateful you're writing to me, it helps when the days are difficult. Please don't stop. Even if you haven't anything to say, just write out your burdens to me so that we can share them. It'll make the weight easier. Faithfully, I remain,

Yours,

Sebastian

He awoke stiff and out of sorts, but rested at last.

It was a wonder Sebastian had managed to sleep considering the fact that there were four guards in the room with him, but he was grateful nonetheless. Having a meal in him certainly helped, even if it was hastily eaten in a room with his advisors, going over what had occurred. News traveled quickly. Granted, they were indeed helping it do so.

“If these are in fact some sort of cultists, expect the Magisterium to condemn the attack. Our refusal to keep it quiet might cause some conflict, but-” Lord Mackeroy cut himself off, and shook his head. A hand raked through his short-shorn gray hair. “Not overconcerned with the opinion of Tevinter.”

“I won't be silent about such things,” Sebastian denied, cutting his hand through the air. “If there had been a death, perhaps it might be wise, but considering how thoroughly they were routed I won't be hiding it. It'll be easy enough to play ignorant Marcher and go iron fist on Tevinter trade for a while until they start making noise.”

“Increasing the levy on Tevinter goods, or having an embargo altogether would help keep more of them out of the city,” Lord Kenric agreed, staring down at the map, his hands steepled together. “But it would have more weight if some of the other Free Cities joined us.”

“We can count on Kirkwall and Tantervale, and possibly Markham and Ansburg since they don't depend much on Tevene trade. The Teryn of Ostwick would probably do anything you asked of him right now. Wycome is embroiled in its own problems right now, and Hercinia won't care.” Lord Kenric leaned back, letting out a long sigh. “They never do.”

“What's the situation in Hasmal?” Sebastian asked, resigned but unsurprised. A Tevinter cult attempting to assassinate him wasn't exactly an outside threat to the whole of the Marches.

“We can't confirm if they're entering the Marches through Hasmal, but considering how the city turns a blind eye to every Tevene that waltzes across the border it wouldn't be a surprise. We've got eyes in the city,” Lord Mackeroy said gruffly. “It's just as likely they're coming from Nevarra, though.”

“I think the wisest course is to start with a heavy trade levy and an official condemnation. Force Tevinter to condemn the attack loudly and publicly. Put out a generous bounty for information on Tevinter cultists and mages in the city, have the Watch handle it. Aye, they're going to get a lot of frivolous claims, but it'll make the streets uneasy enough that hopefully any remaining Venatori will find themselves having difficulty.”

“That's going to make us a bit short-handed,” the Watch Captain, an aging, battle-hardened man declared, crossing his arms.

“Extra compensation will help?” Sebastian asked, and returned the nod given to him. “Good, then. It's a time of war, albeit a strange one, I'll leave fretting over the treasury to Lord Roric.”

“You're not worried about civil unrest?” the Knight-Commander asked cautiously.

“Perhaps if the state of Thedas was more easy, aye I would be, but in our current state I am more concerned with safety than comfort. Keep an eagle eye on the Watch and don't let them abuse anyone being accused. If we have to keep them in the royal dungeon and I judge each one myself, so be it,” Sebastian said with a small shake of his head. “I'm not so stupid as to think people won't accuse their neighbors for some coin and petty grievances.”

“We'll have to make certain they know the bounty is only to be paid on _confirmed_ evidence or accusations,” Lord Kenric added with a nod. “It may be the quickest way to run them to ground. We can't presume that mage is the only one left.”

“We need to react predictably to stay ahead of things. Paranoia, setting out a bounty, verbally condemning Tevinter- these are all _expected_ actions,” Sebastian stressed, already quite certain neither bounty nor levies would do anything to solve this problem. But they were what he would do in this situation did he not have other avenues. “Being predictable helps keep us safe, so that when we do the unexpected it is not anticipated. On that note...”

Trailing off significantly, Sebastian stared at Zevran, who had been lurking in the corner of the crowded room with his arms folded over his leather-clad chest, smirking faintly.

“Your ah- _friends_ ,” the word was leaned on significantly, “helped me infiltrate Lady Ciara's residence quite handily. The Lady herself has not been well.”

“A shame,” Sebastian said mildly.

“Luckily, a cousin from Nevarra has come to stay with her, to help her through this troublesome time. Well, she visited before Ciara began feeling poorly, but ah- since she is not well now, her visit has been extended.”

“Poison?” Sebastian asked, and then grimaced at Zevran's brisk nod. “Of course. Will she survive long enough for us to solve this?”

“Perhaps. Her cousin has many connections, a savvy businesswoman. I managed to scan some of her letters. It seems she was here to move goods from Starkhaven to that city you mentioned before- Hasmal?”

“What goods?” Lord Kenric asked.

“Sheep, apparently. There was a mention of price per head- I do not know a great deal about livestock trading, mind you.”

Sebastian glanced sidelong at Kenric, who nodded and confirmed, “slave smuggling.”

“So they were going to kill me, and start kidnapping my people in the chaos?” Sebastian asked tiredly. “Andraste has blessed us, then, that we've uncovered it.”

“It is what happened in Kirkwall. Unrest is opportunity for a certain sort of monster,” Zevran said with a shrug.

“Lady Nightingale's reports sent to us did mention that the Venatori have been known to use slaves. It would make sense that they need bodies, living or dead. Blood magic and evil.” Kenric shook his head and let out a long, rough sigh.

“My people will not suffer that fate. Zevran?”

“I expect that this enterprising Nevarran cousin will lead us to the merchant whose fleet is being utilized for this deed, and perhaps the lair of the remaining Venatori. I will be following her until she does.”

“We've narrowed down the possible merchant to about six or seven,” Lord Mackeroy said, frowning. “One particularly good bet.”

“A map with them marked would be handy, thank you. And once I have located them, Prince Vael?”

All eyes settled on Sebastian, expectantly.

His mind was still on the assassination. He thought he'd been paranoid they might go after the children, but they had. They would have murdered them all, from brave Cecelia to young Finn with his toad named Evie. Slaughtering babies in their beds.

It would be wise to stay back. His safety of course was important to his city, he must survive not only for her, but for the future of the Vael line. No one would blame him for sending others to do such work, his advisors would probably be relieved he was being sensible.

He thought of all the times he had done things halfheartedly, or shirked his duty- and he thought of Evelyn, who led with courage and tenacity, if not always wisdom, and how her people followed her with great faith and trust.

“I will deal with them. I expect Liam will want to as well,” Sebastian said simply, keeping his voice calm and assured. “They haven't just threatened my family, but my people as well. Starkhaven's Prince will defend her.”

He would not hear any argument.


	33. Old and New Entanglements

The sounds of shouting drew Isla's attention as she wandered the yard to the tavern, aching after a long day of trying to find someone capable of kicking her ass.

Irritatingly, Cullen had been nowhere to be found on the training fields. He probably could have managed the feat. He was in her head, at the moment, because she was pretty sure that was him shouting. Squinting an eye, she glanced sidelong at the door that led into the forge where they smithed for the rank and file, pausing in her meandering.

When the door burst open, she stepped back uncertainly, watching Cullen storm out. If he'd looked in a temper she would have just let him be, but the expression on his profile as he swept past without even seeming to see her was something entirely different. No, that wasn't anger.

That was the face of a man who was suffering.

After a few seconds of uncertain staring, she finally began trailing after him. He had a good head start and she was taking her time. As she mounted the stairs to the battlements she could hear the door of his office slam, loudly. The soldiers she passed were looking at each other uncertainly, but Isla wasn't phased.

She could handle Cullen.

The door was cracked, and without bothering to knock she went to shoulder it open. Concerned as she was, well-honed instincts took over as she slipped through. Her head jerked to the side, and something cracked into the wall with a violently shattering sound. Lifting a hand to her cheek, Isla glanced down at the smear of blood on her fingertips.

It didn't hurt yet, which meant it was probably glass- not a big deal.

“Isla! Maker's breath. I didn't hear you come in-”

Glancing up, she forced a smile, but he was staring down at his desk. “Barely a scratch.”

“Forgive me.”

“Nothing to,” she said, reaching back and gently closing the door.

The door creaked closed, cutting out the outside. Hopefully there were no eavesdroppers, he seemed like he needed to get some things out. “Talk to me, Rutherford. What's going on?”

“You don't have to-” he began, and then crumpled with a groan, gripping the edge of the desk.

Quickly she bridged the distance, ignoring the hand he tried to hold up to fend her off. Isla hadn't gotten this far in life by humoring men when they tried to be stoic. Load of nonsense.

A glance back at the door, and then back again filled in all of the blanks without words. The shattered, scattered case was a lyrium kit. Pretty clear what was happening. And vaguely terrifying, in her opinion- Isla had dealt with a lot of Templars in her day.

Hopefully the broken vial she'd been hit with had been empty, and there wasn't any in the cut.

“It's been a while, then,” she surmised, stepping around his second attempt to fend her off and grabbing his elbow. “How bad is it? Do I need to call for anyone, or will you pull through all right?”

“Yes...I don't know,” he mumbled.

Isla supported him, glancing around and realizing there wasn't a damn chair in the whole room. What the hell, Cullen? Breathing out a sigh through her nose, she released him as he straightened up and pulled away, turning for the window.

“You know what happened in Ferelden, you were there,” he said quietly, voice strained and tight.

“I was,” she agreed quietly. Any humor died, tension replacing it. Maker did she ever remember that, what had been done to him, what he'd been through. That was why she'd never really held any of their fighting against him.

“And Kirkwall- I trusted her, Isla. I trusted my Commander, and for what? Innocent people died in the streets. Everywhere I went, nothing but death and destruction. I couldn't-” His voice cracked as he stared out the window, hands gripping the stone. “Do you understand why I want nothing more to do with that life?”

“Of course I do,” she said, moving to lean against the wall, trying to catch his eye. “I realize why you might think I of all people would judge you, but I'm not. It's different, Cullen. Being a Warden is an entirely different beast.”

“If you could be free of it, would you?”

He asked it without looking at her, but she knew he saw her wince. Isla averted her gaze, giving a small shake of her head as he stared at the side of her face. The emotions that surged were too strong, too wrapped up in all the hunting, the searching she'd been doing. There was no freedom from the Taint, but the Calling-

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean-”

“This isn't about me,” she interrupted him tightly. “And that wasn't a fair question.”

“It wasn't,” he agreed, voice strained. “I just- I thought this would be better. That I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts...these thoughts won't leave me.”

She could hear the tension returning, the shake in his voice, and she pushed aside her own brooding. It could wait until later. Turning back towards towards him, she watched as he began to pace, prowl, distress and volume rising in tandem.

“How many lives depend on our success? I _swore_ myself to this cause...”

She could see him getting pulled into his own head, movements becoming restless, short and angry. Isla wouldn't interrupt, not yet, but she could feel instincts rising. This she could deal with. It was strangely familiar, despite the vastly different circumstances.

“I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it!” His voice cracked painfully. “I should be taking it.”

“I know how hard it was to get to this point,” Isla replied quietly, breathing out through her nose. “I've seen it before. It's obviously not what _you_ want, or you wouldn't have made it this far. Is it?”

He turned away from her, angrily, pacing past her towards the book case. Obviously he was lost in his own head, in this spiral of his obsessive thoughts- lyrium would do that. Especially to someone who'd been through so much. She might regret it, with how angry he was, but at least she could hold her own if he lost control.

Sharpening her voice, she insisted loudly, “ _is_ it?!”

Cullen's fist slammed into the bookcase, words and the impact cutting through the miserable mire of his mind.

Finally he could exhale, and he did, shoulders slumping as he let out the breath that it felt like he'd been holding in for ages. “No,” he admitted quietly. “But...these memories have always haunted me...”

A hand on his shoulder, turning him away to face her. Isla stared into his face, sympathetic but not soft or pitying. Understanding. “Listen. Look at me. I'm here.”

_Look at me, Templar. I'm here. We're here to rescue you._

The same words.

An echo of those miserable memories, and the voice that had dragged him out of torment and terror. He hadn't believed it, thought it was another lie. Trapped and tortured by demons, her voice had cut through, brought back sanity with it, though he'd denied and rejected it. She'd been there.

“You're all right. You're stronger than this, okay?”

Isla had defeated the demons, returned to him and saved him, pulled him off of the floor and to safety. The worst day of his life, and she'd been there. Brave and strong and- he'd been so angry, so bitter. So full of fear. The way he'd acted, the things he had said, the blind eye he had turned in Kirkwall-

“I don't know if I can fight it,” he admitted, a broken croak torn shamefully from his throat.

“Yes. You can,” she retorted, and finally he managed to meet her eyes. She clutched both of his shoulders, giving him a gentle shake. “You can, Cullen. You've already come further than any Templar I've ever met. You of all people know how insidious it is. Just keep looking at me, okay?”

“I am,” he replied quietly, and then gave a long sigh, a cleansing breath. “I am so s-”

“Nah,” she interrupted him, her voice even and easy. There was a crackle of warmth, an easy cadence to it that was soothing. It helped just to listen. “We go through shit like this, too. One of my best Wardens fights off the Calling every day of her life. She has since the day she Joined, it's completely fucked. We fight it together. This is your Calling. I don't-” She paused, emotions flickering across her face as he watched, focused on her eyes. “I don't believe it's inevitable. It doesn't have to be inevitable. It can be fought. I realize the metaphor doesn't quite hold up and you might find it insulting b-” Her voice had gone awkward, stilted.

“No,” he assured her quickly, interrupting in a tumble. “It's...not a bad way to look at it. Isla, are you- are you hearing it?”

“No,” she denied, dropping her head. “I think I have a few years left in me. I was conscripted younger than most. I don't know if that helps. Everyone's different. But I think about it _constantly._ I think about the others- the ones who have abandoned me, or I abandoned them, and I wonder if I'll find their bodies in the Deep Roads. I'm always looking for the bodies.”

“You've lost a lot.” He shouldn't say it, but there was something in her voice that hurt.

She clasped his shoulders one last time and then pulled away, turning to lean against the wall, slumping down. He watched as she slid down the wall, finally landing on the floor, one leg tucked up to her chest, the other stretching out. “We can conscript, but sometimes when the fight is over, they leave. But the Taint doesn't let go, the Call will still come for them. I still think about them constantly. I- Alistair. Velanna.” There was a pause, and she admitted even more quietly, “...Anders.”

He couldn't help the shock that colored his voice. “Anders?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing up and over, lifting her shoulders in a shrug, wide lips twisting into a rueful smile. “Anders. I know what he did now, you can be mad if you want. I conscripted him when he was running from the Templars, I saved his life.”

“You didn't know what he-” Cullen stopped himself, trying to push aside the anger that should not have aimed itself at her.

“No. He did something I didn't agree with, we had a screaming, wall-shaking fight, I sent him on a mission because I couldn't even look at him. He never came back, and I lost good men.” There was something there in the edge of her smile, a guilty, wistful edge. “Sometimes I think about looking for him, but me and Anders- oil and a spark. We always were. That was- oof, that was an _unfortunate_ choice of metaphor. Sorry.”

“Yes, he did blow up a Chantry, Isla,” Cullen reminded her, and she slapped a hand over her face. When she laughed in chagrin, it killed the tension in the air, and he managed a faint chuckle himself.

“I'm such an ass. Sorry.”

“I do understand what you mean. Are you saying you two were-”

She laughed again, not denying it. “It made sense for a little while. But it seems like in making choices for the 'greater good', I always end up losing people. But you know, I'm not going to stop trying, Cullen. You can't either.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I'd be ashamed to,” he said, trying to lighten the bitter edge to her smile. “I'm not certain I'm capable of keeping up with the great Hero of Ferelden, though.”

“I don't know about that. Do you wanna get really drunk and hide under your desk?”

He laughed in surprise, dropping his head and glancing sidelong at her, tilting it to the side. She met his look with an impish grin from her seat on the floor. He gestured to the solid slab of wood spread with his maps and correspondence. “There's no underside to the table, as you can clearly see.”

“Behind, then,” she declared exasperatedly. “Come on. You've got to go to Orlais soon. This may be your last chance at happiness.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, he grimaced. “Getting drunk on the floor of my office? Maker, that's a grim thought.”

“I'm a Grey Warden. Grim is what we do best,” she said with a hint of a sly smile. “Taciturn, unpleasant, grim bastards with a sacred duty. Misunderstood, mis-”

He interrupted her, the smirk on her face bringing to mind a blurry, but stubbornly-clinging memory. “I watched you, at a celebratory feast in the middle of your combined armies, every remaining Arl in Ferelden- and the _Queen_ you'd put on the throne, pull off your tunic and scream, oh, what was it? 'Suck on these, Urthemiel'.”

“Firstly, I meant every word. Secondly, I was very drunk and I wanted to piss off Anora.”

“Urthemiel was already dead.” Shaking his head, he reached for the partially-full bottle on his desk, uncorking it and offering it down. He had a feeling she wouldn't care too terribly much about the vintage.

Isla cackled, accepting the bottle and lifting it in salute. “My taste in men _is_ terrible, Cullen. You would know.”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, fixing her with a puzzled look. Isla met it with a half smile that gradually grew, eventually becoming a full-fledged, wickedly arch grin.

“You really don't remember. I told Leli you might not,” she said with malicious delight.

“Remember what?”

“So you remember me flashing my tits at Anora but you don't remember plowing me in an alcove less than two hours later?” she asked bluntly.

His mind went profoundly blank. “I-what?”

Isla just grinned, lifting the bottle and taking one long swig.

They had- no, absolutely not. Firstly, they hadn't even liked one another at the time, and secondly, he would have remembered something like that. Right?

“You're teasing me,” he accused, but there was an odd uncertainty in his mind now. It had been so long ago, and admittedly yes, he'd been very drunk and very unhappy at the time, but-

“Not even a little. It's okay, honestly it was over so quic-”

“That does not make me feel better, Isla!”

She started laughing again, head thumping against the wall. Leaning forward, he rested both hands on the desk and stared down at her. Despite his complete and utter horror that he could have _forgotten_ something like that, her laughter was so infectious that he had to fight a smile of his own.

She trailed off into a sigh, smile going lopsided, eyes distantly vague. “Listen, we were both in a really bad place, young and stupid and miserable. I was crawling up the walls at the time, being a self-destructive, bitter asshole. It's not anything to be ashamed or embarrassed of. Just a bit of youthful indiscretion.”

“Right,” he agreed dubiously, still giving her a sidelong look. “And how can I be certain you're not just teasing me?”

“I'm sure I could think of a way to jog your memory,” she said with a sly smirk.

Blankly, he stared at her, mind trying to process that. It wasn't that she wasn't an attractive woman, it was- well, it was _Isla_. Even when they'd been at odds he'd had nothing but respect for her- after all he owed her his life. She was the Hero of Ferelden, all but a legendary figure now.

And Cullen was fairly certain she was propositioning him.

“I- hmh,” he managed to say.

Isla just grinned.

Wherever Evelyn went, correspondence followed her.

Even to Val Royeaux.

There was always more news, more information to absorb, gossip, conflicts to be warned of. More welcome in general were missives from home, bits of bright news or distraction to help everything else be a bit more bearable. Sebastian's letters had joined that group for the most part.

The letter that had found her evening's parcel was something entirely different.

“The situation in Starkhaven seems entirely under control,” Josephine said, enduring Evelyn's ferocious glare from across the suite. “Leliana and Cullen are not here, but they would say the same thing. We cannot spare the troops to send to Starkhaven, and even if we did, we would likely arrive too late to be of use.”

“They tried to kill _my_ family!” Evelyn protested furiously, letting Max take the letter from her before she crumpled it further. “That cannot stand. It simply cannot stand!”

“And when the culprits are uncovered and the Prince has handled the situation and informed us of any political ties they might have-” Josephine began, interrupted by Evie's exasperated, wordless exclamation of frustration. Patiently, Josie continued over her, “then we will send proper censure and deal with any connections on our end. I agree, the Inquisition cannot stay silent on this matter, but we also cannot interfere with a foreign power when they have not requested our aid.”

“It's not a foreign power, it's Sebastian,” Evie snapped.

“Evie, they're safe,” Max signed with one hand, but she could see the worry on his face as he read. “The children are safe. Let's focus on that. Have faith in Sebastian and Liam.”

The distress roiling in her stomach refused to be so easily placated. She knew he had meant to be reassuring, forthright, but by now she knew his hand intimately. The slight shake of the words, the way they had been distorted by a tremor of his hand had struck her so acutely that it made this panic all the worse.

Being in Val Royeaux made this news all the worse.

The ridiculous, palatial inn room she'd been so grateful for on arrival seemed stupid now, frivolous. What point was there in gilding and fripperies and stupidly small pastries when people were in danger? Here she was, going around showing her face to spoilt, stuck-up Orlesians so they could gossip at one another and someone was trying to kill her family? Her Sebastian?

Yes politics were important, but so was bashing people in the face when they dared cross her.

“Evelyn...” Josie began cautiously.

“What is the point in any of this Void-damned politicking and placating and arse-kissing if I cannot even protect my family?!” The gilt-edged teacup next to her pile of correspondence got a look, fingers itching to throw the thing. Not in front of Josephine, though. Maybe later, it would probably make a delightful smash.

“We knew something was afoot in Starkhaven, stop pretending as if this is a shock, Evie,” Max signed, shaking his head at her. She icily glared at him for his calm.

“I knew there would be danger,” she said, tight-lipped, trying to fight back her fury. “I am not ignorant of that fact. But the sheer, unmitigated gall of trying to murder children-”

“He knew in advance, he was prepared,” Max signed, and spoke at the same time.

That gave Evie pause, knocking her out of her cold rage. She blinked at him for a moment, and then glanced over at Josephine. No sign of distaste or discomfort on her face- though she supposed Josie was excellent at keeping a political face. That wasn't the surprise. The surprise was Max feeling comfortable enough around Josie to speak common.

He generally avoided it.

“I ah-” She blinked, glancing down at the letter again when Max handed it to her, smoothed out. She let out a heavy sigh, gently folding it up. The tension in her voice was still there, she couldn't seem to hide it, but she would lie and put on the mask of calm until it died. At least until they left. “I despise feeling helpless, I-”

“Anyone who knows you knows that, Evie,” Max signed tolerantly, with a half smile. “I'm worried as well. But our worry can't do anything. At least the wee ones are going back to Ostwick.”

“He's wise to go with the playacting that they knew nothing,” Evie admitted irritably. “I wasn't aware he was that politically savvy. He never cared a whit about such things before.”

“I would think a few years plunged into the heart of Starkhaven's politics would do a world of good for curing ignorance,” Josephine said briskly, giving her a smile.

“Or it was his advisors,” Evelyn said grudging the idea of giving Sebastian the credit, and then sighed. “Thank you. I apologize for my fit of pique. Will you be joining me for evening tea or supper?”

“Got plans,” Max signed, smiling at her disbelieving raised eyebrow.

“In Val Royeaux?”

“Yes, don't be nosy,” Max signed back, and laughed out loud at her scowl. “I'll see you in the morning for breakfast before you're off to play politicking. And yes, I'll run about tomorrow and pick up all your parcels.”

He was side-stepping her, which was irritating. What in Andraste's name could he possibly have to do in Val Royeaux, of all places? She glared, and he turned away from her with a smile. Tracking his gaze, her attention fell on Josephine, who was looking rather awkward, hands folded together tightly at her waist.

“I will see you after breakfast, Inquisitor. I've already arranged our transportation,” Josephine said, slightly stilted.

“Do you have everything you need?” Max signed to Josephine.

Evelyn's eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I believe so,” Josie said hurriedly, moving for the door as Max opened it, giving him a quick smile. She glanced back at Evelyn, nodding quickly. “Good evening, Evelyn.”

“Bye, hedgehog.”

No, it couldn't possibly be.

As they slipped out, the sneaky bastards, she was following after them before her mind even had time to register everything that was happening. Suddenly Dorian's words made sense. 'Squiring Josephine about', was it? Right under her nose.

Why hadn't he told her anything?

It wasn't as if she disapproved, it wasn't as if-

Hands against the door, she didn't even take a moment to consider that there might be even an iota of her own fault in their duplicity. She pushed the door back open, peering out into the crack. They were almost at the turn in the hall, and damn her poor vision, she couldn't see what they were saying. She squinted, pushing the door open as they turned, mind racing to plot how she would follow them without being noticed.

Evelyn stepped out into the hall.

“A lovely night, isn't it?” Dorian asked.

She startled, straightening up, casting a wild look left, and then right. Her door was flanked. Dorian looked positively smug, and Varric just looked amused. When Dorian linked his arm through hers, she was well and truly caught.

“Traitors!” she accused, scowling all the deeper at Dorian's laugh.

“You'll give yourself wrinkles like that,” he reminded her. “Come now, don't you think it's a little silly that this was necessary?”

“I mean, all you're doing right now is proving your brother right,” Varric agreed.

“How could you?” she asked Varric, feeling the betrayal keenly. There was no point asking Dorian. “Turning on me like this?”

“Doesn't it get tiring being this dramatic?” Dorian asked her flippantly.

Varric smiled sympathetically. “Give the guy some space, Evelyn.”

Fighting the urge to snap at both of them, she let out a sigh through her nose. At least Varric had called her by her name. Evelyn could admit privately that she was more irritated with being anticipated like this by Max than being caught. Also the fact that he'd hidden it from her.

“Well, at least Vivienne didn't betray me,” she groused, letting herself be pulled along by Dorian. “Where are we going?”

“I've had supper sent to my room, you can sulk over it. It sounded like you've had some bad news?”

With the solicitous arm through hers, it was easier to be placated. Evelyn gave a huff through her nose as she was led up the vaulted hall, feet echoing on marble floors. “I suppose it could have been much worse. There was an assassination attempt- Sebastian had prepared for it. It failed entirely. I'm just- they went after the children. Absolutely savage.”

“Shit. That's just evil,” Varric said with a grimace.

“That's Venatori,” Dorian said, glancing sidelong at Evelyn. “If our assumptions were correct?”

“They were,” she sighed. “Forewarned is forearmed, I suppose.”

“Hawke said she'd drop by on their way. Who knows, maybe they can lend a hand sorting it all out for Choir Boy,” Varric said.

“Why _do_ you call the prince that?”

“You haven't heard?” Varric asked, surprised. “Well, shit. You're in for a story, Sparkles.”

Evelyn had no doubt that Varric meant to be reassuring, but that small, petty hurt that she'd pushed aside in the chaos of Adamant abruptly surged back again. The little reminder that she had been nothing more than a second choice. It wasn't jealousy. Hawke was married, after all.

But it seemed like every time she might be feeling some hope that things might be different this time, she was reminded yet again that they couldn't possibly be. The conflict was growing worse, remembering the kiss on the bridge, the sweet words in his letters, the small thoughtful presents- all contradicting the old bitter feelings that lived deep inside of her. What was the truth?

Was she truly as unwanted as her heart told her she was?

My Dear Evelyn,

I received your letter last night. I spent some time reading it, and some time in prayer, and I believe I'm prepared to respond. I want to begin by thanking you for your honesty. I know it must have been difficult for you, and I am grateful that you opened yourself to me.

I have no excuses for you, only reasons, which you acknowledged that you already know. You were absolutely right. I was seeking acceptance. I failed to find it from my family, and so I sought it from sycophants and spoiled, indolent boys whose behavior I began to emulate.

I don't remember what was said that you might have overheard. I thought of hiding it, but it is true, and unflattering, and likely makes it all the worse. I don't remember, but I can imagine what it was. I cannot say that the singular time you may have heard me was the only one, for there was a not-insignificant stretch of time where I was extremely bitter, and resentful. I am ashamed.

I am sorry.

Sometimes that is all that is to be said, especially with a wound this deep and old, and I say it wholeheartedly. If you wish to wait until I can do so in person, I understand. I understand and I will as many times as you need me to.

I had considered many deeper and more grandiose apologies, but those would not do justice to the hurt you have suffered. I realize how precious Maximilian is to you, and always has been. I will write to him as well. Despite what he may think, I do owe him an apology as well for failing him as a friend. Whatever you require from me, be it words, or time, or deeds, I will do my utmost. Just say the word.

I had thought to hide from you that I am about to walk into danger, and now I feel ashamed for it. We have found where the Venatori are likely operating from. I would trust my Knights to handle it without me, but they tried to kill our family. That cannot stand.

By the time I send this, it will already be over. Have faith. Your brother and I will be absolutely fine, all of this will be solved, and Starkhaven and your family will be safe. I cannot send it until then, for obvious reasons. This must be absolutely secret. I suppose writing it in advance is foolish, but having read your letter I wanted to make sure I had responded before.

In case I am unable to, someone will send this when it is over.

Yours,

Sebastian

P.S. The deed is done. Liam was injured but he is already healed and exasperatingly proud of the scar. Please scold him for taking an arrow for me, it was reckless and unnecessary. I know I can count on you to handle such a task. I am sending a great deal of information to your spymaster.

I'll write more later, I want to send this out now. Still yours- S


	34. Uncomplications

Rubbing his forehead in slow circles, Sebastian stared at the list of names before him.

For every one that had been listed, he feared there were two more that had disappeared unremarked and unmourned. He had the Watch canvassing widely, but they were only men. Only the Maker truly knew who among his people had been taken.

Slavers did not record names.

He should be grateful for what they had of the records, that their careful duplicity had ensured they weren't destroyed before the attack. Unfortunately, all it was doing was making him painfully aware of that no matter what he did, there would be evils he could not anticipate or stop. A sharp reminder sent with one of Leliana's ravens had been read over and over. He needed the reminder.

'S- Don't you DARE go. Focus on doing what only the Prince can do. -E'

Evelyn was correct.

Hawke and Fenris would be leaving in the morning without him, as much as he hated to stay. The responsibilities here must take precedence. He had chosen to retake the throne, and he must address the repercussions of the Venatori incursion. Hopefully they had cleared out all of the infection, and it was time to begin healing.

It had been a rude awakening for some of the city's nobility.

Starkhaven had been stable for some time, even despite the departure of the Templarate and the issues with the Circle. Events of the world were to be observed from a distance, measured in loss and gain of coin, heard about in letters and gossip from this cousin or that distant friend. They did not happen to Starkhaven.

Having been in Kirkwall after the Blight, he knew how very untrue that was.

But having been reminded that they were as subject to disaster as other corners of Thedas had rattled some of his people. Sebastian had not been secretive with what had happened. Perhaps it was unkind to announce to the city that they had been infiltrated by Tevinter cultists, and perhaps another ruler would have feared that it would make him look weak or incompetent, but he would sacrifice a possible small amount of his reputation in order to ensure Starkhaven was not complacent.

They were part of Thedas.

He had no fear of his position. It felt ungracious and inappropriate to admit part of it was because of Evelyn, but he knew she would have been practical about it. Being betrothed to the Inquisitor made him all but politically untouchable at the moment, especially in a city as pious as Starkhaven. A few gentle words from the throne to the city's Chantries had ensured that the clergy knew what the right side of the conflict- and history- would be.

When a knock came at his door he glanced up, realizing how low the light had gotten. Rubbing his temple, he nodded to the guard across the room, who returned the gesture and opened the door for him. To his gratitude it was Agnes, bustling in with a bundle under her arm and a tray in her other hand.

Sebastian chuckled faintly. “We have servants, Aggie.”

“And what did the Maker give me two hands for if I don't use them?” she retorted sharply, bustling over and setting down the tray, contents rattling. “You missed tea. Again. Say what I will about my husband, at least he remembers what time of the day it is. You should open your curtains when you get up, it'll help. It's going to get stuffy in here.”

“Thank you for the tea,” he replied penitently, reaching for the pot before she could pour it herself. “Is Liam well?”

“Oh, he's fine. Say what you will about magic, but there's nothing like it for getting a body back on their feet. He keeps telling everyone who will listen how he saved your life.”

“Of course he is,” Sebastian chuckled, ungrudging of that. “I was wearing armor, you know. But...I'll let him have it, I suppose.”

“Word from Evelyn.” The parcel and letter were tapped with a knowing smile. “She sent it all together, along with some things for the children and myself. And some prettywork for the babe. I'm surprised she's finding the time to embroider.”

Surprise turned to a pleasure that took some of the weight off his heart. “Ah, I was wondering why it hadn't come with my correspondence.” He hadn't had a letter since his apology. Even if she would have written it before, he hadn't realized how he'd come to depend on her letters until too many days had gone by without them. The conversations went a bit cross-ways with the travel time, but that was how things went. “She does have some trouble, the Anchor makes her hand shake, but I think it helps her calm and clear her mind.”

“Poor thing,” Agnes said with a click of her tongue. She shook her head, curls bouncing. “Hopefully once all the troubles are over something can be done about it. I suppose you're looking forward to seeing her again? You were still planning to go, aye?”

“Aye, I'd be going even if she wasn't. I'm getting third and fourth hand accounts of the state of the Chantry in Orlais and the business of the next Divine, but that's not good enough. And of course all the politics and the survival of the Empress- too many reasons not to go.”

“Will you be going with Evelyn again afterward?'

“I-” He paused, glancing down at his paper-strewn desk. Certainly a great deal of it could be handed off. Liam was more than capable as well, and now that they had worked together a time he had a better feel for how Sebastian would have done things. “I am conflicted. It depends, I believe, on the Inquisition's goals and trajectory after the situation in Halamshiral is dealt with. I would not have her face that monster, Corypheus, without me at her back. Not again.”

“You miss her.” A statement, and not a question. When he glanced up at Agnes, she was smiling softly down at him. “I can tell. Liam's been on me to ask you about the state of things between you two, you know. He's too much like Dierdre, doesn't believe his wee sister should wed for anything less than love, but I don't need to ask to know you miss her.”

“More than I realized I would,” he admitted quietly, chuckling at Agnes' knowing smile. “Days seem more bland when she's not a part of them. Things between us are still- they need some work. But it's work I'm glad and willing to put in. Even when she's angry with me-”

“Even?” Agnes asked, interrupting him with a chuckle. “How long have I known you, Sebastian?”

He laughed, chagrined. “I deserve that. Yes, sometimes I may enjoy making her angry. In my defense, I've never known anyone who enjoys being angry as much as Evie. But, even when she's angry with me, she still makes my days brighter by being a part of them.”

“Hmmh,” Agnes said, setting down the parcel and letter next to the tea tray. “You know, Max wrote me of that little scene she made when you left the Inquisition.”

“Of course,” he sighed, shaking his head at her chuckle. “Of course he did. I was as surprised as you were, no doubt.”

“But happy?”

He paused for a moment, and then acknowledged it with a nod, reaching for the letter. “Aye. I am trying to be patient. I know how deeply I hurt her, and she's been honest with me about the hurts she's holding on to. I am only hoping I can prove to her that I want to make things right, and win her friendship again. I promised Callum that I wouldn't marry her until she believed I saw worth in her as a friend, not merely-”

He stalled, not wanting to put words to her private feelings like that. Agnes gave him another knowing look, and a slow nod of her head. “The whole pack of them have always been too protective of Evie. Justified or no. If she says you aye, take her at her word. No need to go demanding she justify her yes, you'll have the rest of your lives to grow toward each other.”

“I made a promise to Callum, Aggie.”

She arched a brow, voice tart. “Oh, and it's his business, is it? You can't let them bully you like that- because they will. She's no more their property than she is yours, or any other person's- including Lady Dierdre. Being protective isn't an excuse.”

“I hadn't thought of it like that,” he admitted quietly, glancing aside. “She may have- requested we 'get it over with' before, and I refused. I just can't bear the thought of a wife who doesn't want me, Aggie. I won't have that for us. Especially not for her.”

A hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing gently as he broke the seal on the letter with his thumb. “She'll come round. If I know our Evie, even if she's still not forgiven you, the only thing she'd hate more than marrying you is the idea of anyone else getting to.”

He blinked in surprise, glancing up into Aggie's face. What an odd sentiment. And yet, it was oddly pleasant to hear, all the same.

“You're smiling,” Aggie told him, eyes crinkling merrily at the corners.

“I ah- it's just a very strange thing to say, Aggie.”

“But you know it's true. Evie is as she will be, and if that's the woman you want to marry you'll have to accept her as she is. Contrary, mule-headed, tempestuous, spiteful-”

“Clever, quick-witted, kind-hearted, charming, brave-” he countered, but without denying it. She was Evie, thorns and all.

Aggie's eyes softened, the hand on his shoulder squeezing one last time before releasing him with a pat. “You'll be just fine. Just don't let anyone interfere with you two working things out in your own way. Be honest with her about your feelings.”

“My-”

“I've got two eyes, a brain, and a whole pile of wee ones, Sebastian. You can't hide a thing from me, you know. You accept her as she is, and she'll have to accept you as you are. Both you, and your feelings. Do you love her?”

A question he would have answered differently at the beginning of this conversation. Instead of denying it, he took a moment to think about it- actually think about it, and not deny it because he knew Evelyn would hate it. “I- she challenges the parts of myself that need challenging. She always has, and that's part of why for a time I decided I hated her. I didn't want to be challenged.”

“And now?”

“I'm grateful for it- grateful to have her in my life again. I'm a better man because of her. Not for anything she's done, or for any burden I've asked her to bear...but because she makes me want to _try_.”

Agnes laughed quietly, leaning down and giving him a quick kiss on the side of his head without a care for setting his crown askew. It was a familiarity he'd missed for a long time, and all over again he was grateful they were here beside him. Family again at last. “Oh, my boy. That's the proper way of it. If that's not love, certainly it's the start of it, and good and noble thing besides. Have your tea before it gets cold, now.”

“Thank you,” he said with a nod. Reaching up to squeeze her hand when she gave him a last pat on the shoulder, he admitted quietly, “I just wish we were able to do things properly. That we had more time.”

Agnes pulled away with a smile, pausing before the door and glancing back towards him. “I'm surprised she's given you any at all. This is Evelyn we're talking about, after all. But I'm glad she has. Starting off with a properly good foundation will ensure things last.”

He chuckled. “Are we building a house, then?”

“Oh no, something far more important, Sebastian. You're building a future.”

His smile softened as she left, and then faded away pensively. The letter in his hands was unfolded, crinkling softly. He noted that someone had unsealed it once, the edge of the wax slightly distorted. Not surprising, but irritating.

Someone was always spying, that was sadly part of life in any position of authority.

Reaching for his tea, he settled in to read.

Dear Prince Vael,

I am pleased your assault upon the Venatori stronghold went well. I of course understand that recovering your lost people is of paramount importance, and I am sorry that they have been taken. I was gladdened to hear of those who were recovered before they could be taken out of the city. I pray to the Maker for the lost people of Starkhaven to be brought home safely.

Now.

Sebastian.

I bloody well know leads are being followed because Leliana's told me so, and I'm sorry, but going home to deal with unrest is one thing, but haring off to the north to track down slavers is quite another. You have responsibilities. Please leave this duty to others, and don't you dare drag my brother into it.

I'm quite serious.

They may be your people, but delegation and knowing your strengths is a duty of rulership; which we both know well. Do you think I'd be out waist-deep in muck if I had a choice? Be sensible, or I swear I'll have you kidnapped and brought back here just to scold you. Trust Hawke and Fenris. Please.

I'm afraid I have some responsibilities to deal with before Halamshiral that cannot wait. An associate of Varric's has brought some unsettling news that I must look in to in regards to the red lyrium. I will not let it delay anything, stability in Orlais is paramount right now if the Chantry is to be rebuilt. And for other, more obvious reasons, I suppose.

I just might be cutting it a bit close. I won't be arriving early to spend time with my family, as much as I regret that. I do hope you'll keep them company for me. Endure mother, for my sake.

I have bowed to the necessity of appearing in uniform, much to my distaste. The good news is that red and gold are our colors, which means should you do the appropriate thing for once and appear in Starkhaven colors we will still match enough. No Vael colors, just Starkhaven for one night, please. A token wouldn't go amiss, but please avoid flowers. Josephine is insistent we look military.

Much to my chagrin.

I want to stress I am not nosy, I have never been nosy, and if you knew about Max and Josephine and you did not tell me, I am upset with you. You don't have to tell me. I just wanted you to know that.

If it makes it to you, I hope you enjoy the stationary set. I cannot for the life of me think of presents the way you can, but I hope at least this makes it clear that I happen to like how often you write. You should keep doing so. Also some suitably Orlesian things for the eldest twins to soothe their tempers, tokens for the others and for Agnes, and some embroidery I've finished for her wee first grandchild I've heard is coming. Ask her to put it on a gown for me for the babe.

There's a fatalistic sentiment there, I fear. When I finished the embroidery I thought 'perhaps when I am gone it can be a family heirloom'. I have been thinking such thoughts often lately. I try not to, and fail. I don't know what to do about that, it seems that some wounds I have taken refuse to heal. I have never been good at moving on, I suppose.

Have you any advice for purging fears from the heart besides praying?

You know I do not neglect my prayers.

\- Evelyn

P.S. Your apology came.

My Dearest Evelyn,

I received the raven you sent before your letter, and I have already conceded to your demands. Still, the reiteration was not too much, your council is valued even from far away and the written reminder is glanced back upon when I need it. Yes, you are correct. As much as I hate to not rescue my people, regaining stability in Starkhaven is a task only I can fulfill.

I appreciate you keeping me firmly on my path.

The gifts made it intact, and I'm using yours now. Thank you, I'm pleased to have it. Both the present and the sentiment behind it. I expect one of these times you'll be deluged with twenty letters at once and feel less pleased.

As for Halamshiral- if red it is, then red it must be, though I think there's a glow to your beautiful eyes when you wear a rich shade of green. I found mother's earrings. They were where you remembered, and now they're waiting for you. Sadly it seems Halamshiral won't be the time, so I'll have to find something else. I'll have a rummage through the vault.

I'm sorry your heart is heavy.

I wish I could tell you that all will be well, that nothing would ever happen to either of us, but we face unprecedented times and trials. You've told me not to preach a few times before, but we must have faith in the Maker. You will succeed, and we will help protect the future of Thedas.

I wish I could take the fear of death from your shoulders.

I hope if I share the burden with you, it might be lighter for us both. We are fighting the same fight, albeit in different places and with different duties. I will be with you, in whatever way I can.

I will protect our future, so that when your trials and duties are done it will be waiting for you.

I am sorry I cannot free you from your fear, but I hope that thinking of the future brings you some comfort, as it does for me. Tending to the small things makes it easier for me to face the large ones. We've begun negotiations for the Grand Tourney, it's high time and it will be extremely welcome. It has been far too long since Starkhaven has hosted one.

I know how much you enjoyed it when we attended as children.

Do you think they'd let me take part in the archery competition, or would that be an etiquette disaster? You would know. If it's only a minor disaster, I still might. I would make sure not to win the grand prize, in my defense.

Although I could if I wanted to.

I suppose if I entered, though, you would too, and would obviously become the victor. And then we would both be trouncing the competition in a Tourney we've hosted, so that might be uncouth, I suppose. But it would be funny.

I will see you soon, sweetheart.

Yours,

Sebastian

“Oh, don't let me interrupt,” Isla laughed, lingering in the doorway with a smirk on her face.

Head jerking up, Cullen stared at her across the length of his office, the man on the floor in front of him glancing over. The bored expression of the tailor only made her smirk worse, and a snicker escaped her as he shook his head and went back to what he was doing.

“It's my inseam! He's measuring my inseam!” Cullen said, feeling miserably flushed as she continued laughing at him. He started shifting, but stopped stock-still at the grumble of the tailor.

Isla leaned against the doorframe, arms folding. She was out of gauntlets and helm, but otherwise armored in her usual silverite and black leather, her rather oddly thin sword at her hip. He still hadn't gotten a chance to see her use it properly.

“Haven't you ever been fitted before, Commander?” she teased him mercilessly. The tailor just kept on doing his job, ignoring her fit of utterly immature humor. “For Halamshiral?”

“Yes,” he sighed irritably, face falling from alarm into a scowl. He was still exceedingly displeased that neither Josephine nor Leliana would listen to his very reasonable arguments. “I cannot believe I am expected to attend in an official capacity. The Ambassador says it's non-negotiable. It isn't as if I wouldn't come to be on hand, but standing by and attending a party are two very different things.”

“Ferelden country boy surrounded by hungry Orlesian lions. It sounds like fun.”

“I'm sure Josephine could find you an invitation somehow,” Cullen said, and laughed when she pulled a disgusted face, nudging him out of his foul humor. “Or not.”

“Very not. I'm going to go handle those reports of renewed darkspawn activity on the Storm Coast. It's worrying me,” Isla said, glancing over her shoulder. “I figure it's time your conscripts start pulling their weight, and I want to see how well they do under pressure, it'll help me see where they need more training. Besides, I've got a Joining to perform.”

“I was going to suggest it, but, well-” Cullen paused as the tailor finished scribbling and turned to leave. Isla watched him go with a faint smile, and then turned back, head tilting to the side as their eyes met. “I thought we might need to talk. Now that I'm feeling a bit better.”

“I wasn't really looking for _talk_ , Cullen,” Isla retorted. When he cleared his throat roughly, she laughed and crossed her arms over her breastplate, metal clattering. “Is it because of Evs?”

“Is it-” He paused, and closed his eyes with a sigh of frustration. Gossip. Why was everyone always gossiping? Maker save him. “You know, I have had a few ill-considered infatuations in my life, but this one was apparently the worst. I'm never going to live it down.”

“Hey, I'm not judging you. You know, when we were growing up I was the gangly, weird one. Always mysteriously muddy, always getting into trouble.” Isla crossed past him, hopping up to sit on the edge of his desk. He wasn't certain why the change in topic, but was grateful for it nevertheless. “I think mother used to encourage them to come visit because she thought Evs might rub off on me. She was always good at putting on a proper little lady face in front of my mother, but in private? She was a terror. Still is. She's still good at putting on a good face, showing people what they want to see, playing the political games. That's why she's so good for this job, and I wouldn't be.”

“I wouldn't say that. You're a formidable woman.”

“And I fucking hate politics, Cullen,” Isla chuckled, hands clasping her knees. “Absolutely despise them. That's what I have Nathaniel for, so I can foist it all off on him and go haring off. He hates it- you know, we were supposed to get married.” At Cullen's look of disbelief, she nodded and grinned. “It's true. We both hated the idea but our fathers were set on it. Sometimes I still tease him about it. It's weird how we ended up.”

“That is a bit of a meandering road, isn't it?”

“You'd know about meandering roads,” Isla said, and they shared a small smile. “Evelyn- she can be hard to read, I know. Because of the political face and all. I don't know what your feelings are, or-”

He cut her off, lifting a hand and waving it through the air. “She made her position very clear, Isla. I might be a fool, but I'm not that much of one. And I'm certainly not the type of man who hears 'no' and starts looking for a way around it. The 'political face', as you put it- I think maybe I made incorrect assumptions. About her. Which was unworthy of me. Maker, this is embarrassing. Can we just let it go?” Grimacing, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Isla shrugged, tilting her head down to meet his eyes. “I don't really see anything to be embarrassed about, but suit yourself. We all make wrong assumptions now and again.”

“Yes, well, not all of them end with this amount of gossip and humiliation.”

“Oh, please. People are already forgetting about it, I guarantee it. Gossip has a short shelf life unless you don't let it die,” Isla smiled at him, shaking her head. It was too infectious not to break through, and he returned it grudgingly. The tilt of her lips turned mocking. “Besides, getting tangled up with Evs? That's just a lifetime of resigning yourself to being mercilessly bossed around. Trust me, I know. Would you really have fun with that?”

“It seems a bit unfair to speak about her like that, Isla,” he protested. “I bear her no ill will.”

Isla gave him a dead-eyed look, until it broke with a chuckle. She shook her head, braid swinging back and forth. “Evs would be the first to admit it. Luckily for her, I guess, I think her betrothed is into it. So she's got that going for her. You know, I used to know a guy like that. Used to pay a pretty penny at the Pearl just to clean the place while one of the girls followed him around with a whip.”

Laughter would not be denied, but he was horrified at the same time, raising his voice as it quaked. “Isla! That's the Prince of Starkhaven you're talking about!”

“No, I think they called him Dog Boy,” she retorted gleefully.

They laughed together for a time, something he hadn't done so easily or wholeheartedly in a long time. It felt good. When it eased, she let out a long sigh, gripping the edge of the desk.

“Well, I'm glad you're okay.”

It was impossible to stay in a bad mood around her, it seemed. Any lingering bitterness or unease faded, and he gave a sigh and admitted, “I will be. Still not terribly fond of Vael, but that's hardly my business.”

“No, it's really not,” Isla agreed, and then chuckled at the dour look he gave her. “Well, it's true. It's nice to see you out of armor, but I actually came here looking for a spar. I thought it might be fun to see if you've gotten any better.”

Surprised, he raised an eyebrow, glancing across the room at his armor stand. “Well, I only took it off for the tailor. I could certainly put it back on. It's getting a bit late in the day, though.”

“Eh. Dinner and a show for the men?” Isla said, and pushed off the desk. “Loser buys the drinks? By which I mean you. You buy the drinks.”

“Brave words from a woman who fights with a toothpick. Are you sure you know how to fight, and not just fence?” He retorted with a grin, crossing to his armor.

Isla cackled, not in the least bit put out. “I guess you'll find out, huh?”

The door creaked open and he watched her go, heading for the stairs in the waning daylight with a swaggering step. Vaguely bemused, he smiled to himself, giving a small shake of his head. She certainly was a force of nature. It hadn't escaped his notice that she'd entirely side-stepped the conversation he would have liked to have about her...proposition, but maybe after one or two drinks she might be amenable to it.

He wasn't sure what to think of it quite yet. Part of him thought she was only teasing him, but their discussion had put together some pieces in his head, muddled half-formed memories that made him think she might have not been lying about their past. He would have been embarrassed if Isla didn't treat it all with such casual aplomb.

She had a way of putting him at ease.

“I suppose I will find out, yes,” Cullen murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, the next chapter will be NSFW. I will make sure to mark it, and make it as skippable as I can for people who prefer not to read such things. <3


	35. Sparring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello. Extremely NSFW. Please feel free to skip this chapter, anything plot-relevant will come up again and will not be missed overmuch.

The river encampment was noisy this early in the evening, the last spars of the evening finishing up, gossip and relaxation beginning. The smells of cooking were in the air, reminding Isla that she should probably actually eat something. Meal times had become foreign to her, so she kept missing them. It was hard adjusting to surface life.

And being around people again.

The Wardenry were starting to grow accustomed to her leadership style, though she knew the dubious whispers persisted. They'd go away once they'd been on the field together. Training could only do so much. They needed to face the enemy together, and defeat them together to really know each other.

Her appearance in the camp with Cullen at her side garnered them a good deal of attention, as she knew it would. She imagined everyone was wondering who was going to get yelled at this time. It was a fair concern. People needed yelling at sometimes.

“Commander?”

They both half-turned at the question, but this one was for her. Isla hid a smile, tilting her head at the Warden approaching them. “Next time Warden-Commander would be better, you're gonna confuse Cullen. What is it?”

“We're still down one set of armor, you told me to remind you before we left.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting,” she groused, reaching up to rub her forehead. “Always one more thing.”

“Send them up to Skyhold, to the armory, tell them I said they were to be outfitted,” Cullen instructed, smiling faintly at her sidelong look. “It's fine, Isla. Conscripts get armored.”

“Yes, but you didn't have to speak over me,” she retorted, giving a snort. “You're not the boss of me, Rutherford. Warden, do as he said.”

The Warden nodded and headed off, back towards her encampment. They continued on toward the largest of the makeshift sparring rings, shoulder to shoulder. He was still smiling. Good.

He didn't do enough of that, it seemed.

“Well, if we're going to bring rank into it...”

“I rank you,” she interrupted, with a wry smile. “On several fronts.”

“I don't think it really works that way, our positions are rather different,” Cullen mused, pausing at one of the racks of various metal blunts.

“Oh no,” Isla assured with a laugh. “I rank you. But if you think it's up for debate, I suppose winner gets to be the boss.”

“Oh? And what if you lose? Does that make me the Warden-Commander?” he joked, raising an eyebrow when she walked past the rack into the ring. “I'm not fighting you with my regular sword, Isla. This is a spar, not a battle.”

“I won't lose, and none of those blades are right for how I fight.”

She drew her sword from its sheath, the long, narrow blade with its odd curve lifted for inspection. Cullen stepped forward, giving it a puzzled look. He squinted.

“What in Andraste's name is that thing? It hasn't even got a guard.”

“It's a Dwarven copy of an ancient Elven sword. If you can find me something similar weight and balance I'll take it.” She passed over the blade for his inspection. As he inspected it, she watched people starting to take notice, some already ambling over. It'd be a crowd. Good.

“I think I might be able to find you something,” Cullen murmured absently, turning away to examine the racks. “When was the last time you sharpened this, Isla? It's practically dull.”

“It doesn't need to be sharpened to be used,” she responded, still scanning the area. She could feel the friends she'd made in Skyhold, eager things as they were. There was a lot of spirit activity here. Not that she could see them.

Justice had never been able to properly explain to her what made someone with magic different, but she knew enough to know that she didn't have any. It was more complicated than the Chantry would ever admit, but there was still no way to just get magic. As far as she knew.

But having befriended as many spirits as she had over the years definitely meant she could tell when they were peering through the veil. Eternally curious, spirits. Made it easy to ask them for a little help.

When he handed her a blunt she took it without looking, instantly able to feel the differences from her blade. Not quite good enough, but enough for a spar. Still...

“If it's really that dull I might as well use my sword. Not afraid, are you Rutherford?” When she finally glanced back at him he was raising an eyebrow, expression stern.

“Afraid? No. What I'm afraid of is snapping your fancy Elven toothpick in half, Isla,” he retorted, barely twitching at her broad grin. He couldn't keep up the Commander look forever, she'd break him.

“You'd have to hit me for that,” she said, sheathing her sword when he handed it back to her. With the hand not holding the blunt sparring blade, she undid her belt, drawing it off and turning to toss it on a makeshift bench set up at the edge. “I'm not sure you can.” She lifted her voice for the audience, which was growing.

“You might be the Hero of Ferelden, but I believe I can more than hold my own.”

Isla turned to face him, and this time when she grinned he finally smiled, just a twitch of it at the corner of his mouth. With a hand holding a rough wooden buckler, he gestured to a rack of shields across the way. She shook her head.

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “No shield, either? Maker's breath. There's no need to give up before we've even begun, Isla.”

“Don't need a shield if you can't hit me, Cullen.”

“If only your sword was as sharp as your tongue.”

She could feel them crowding, curious, not just the people but the spirits, too. It was probably silly and wasteful to ask them for help with this, but it was fun and she'd rather make a good show of it. Oh, it'd still be a proper fight.

She just didn't plan to follow the rules- rules were for Templars.

“Then let's stop talking, shall we?” Isla suggested.

He gestured to the center of the ring, and she inclined her head. They trudged out together, and turned to face each other. She took a brief moment to assess him. Templar training, heavier armor than hers, but he was also a lot stronger than her. Bulkier, at least.

Weight advantage, reach and height advantage, but hindered by loss of speed. If she could attack his shield until it fell, she could get in a good few hits. He was a frontliner, meant for fighting in groups, leading. But he also knew how to fight mages, which meant not all of her tricks might work. Some would, though. If she pulled them out at the right time.

Isla idly scuffed a foot in the dirt. Pretty hard-packed, probably difficult to get enough of a handful to blind him. That was probably too dirty for a spar, though. She'd have to keep coming at him from behind, then, until she could get the shield down.

“Are you going to just stand there, Warden-Commander?”

“I'm sorry, I thought the weaker party got to sound the attack, I was waiting for you,” she replied with a grin that was all teeth.

“L-”

“If you say 'ladies first' I'll forget that this is supposed to be a friendly spar, Cullen,” she interrupted him.

She saw him smile before he charged her.

Isla side-stepped the first attack, but he was anticipating it and turned to face her. She kept side-stepping, though, swinging low in an attack that he barely deflected away from his hit. He was faster than she'd anticipated.

Shit, she should have watched him spar more.

They traded a few testing blows, and she kept moving. Isla could tell it annoyed him, the scowl of concentration deepening as she slid back from an attack that gouged the dirt in a long furrow.

“Are we dancing?” he snapped at her as she slid back a few more steps. “If you won't fight, it's not much of a spar.”

Isla pretended at repentance, shifting her stance and holding her ground as he charged in with his shield. Anticipating her moving again, he hesitated just long enough with the blade for him to finally score a hit, going high instead of low and slamming the thin blade into his shoulder. She knew he'd barely felt it, but he'd feel the next one.

When he lashed out in response, she focused in on the eager, crowding spirits. She knew they could see her mind, and the offer was completed as silently and quickly as it always was. The strange crackly surge of power was as familiar as a blade in her hand by now, as she stepped forward _in_ to Cullen's rush at her.

And then she stepped _through_ him.

The flicker of the fade made her vision odd for a moment, as the world briefly went upside-down and inside-out. She spun lithely, lashing out at Cullen's back before the whispers and shouts of surprise had even had a chance to rise. She lashed out twice before stepping back, going for the joints of his armor rather than swinging wildly.

Precision and speed, that's what she was good at- and maybe some other tricks, with the help of her friends.

When he spun to face her, she saw the shock on his face, and grinned fearlessly at it.

“Magic?!” he accused.

“Nope,” she said with a laugh. “Expect the unexpected, Commander!”

With a hard look, he charged her again.

This time it was a proper battle.

She managed to pull off the trick more often than not, but that was more due to him learning how to anticipate it. Isla expected that after a few battles it'd stop being such an advantage. When she engaged him directly things were much more even between them, though deflecting his blows was incredibly tiring, especially when he got her to the upper arm. She was forced to ask for help after that one.

When the shimmer of green energy deflected his sword away from her upraised hand, he narrowed his eyes. Rather than let him test it again, she dodged the blow, feeling her chest starting to heave. They took a moment, stood back from each other.

“I thought you didn't need a shield,” he told her, a bit breathless himself.

“I was mistaken. You're faster than you seem.”

“And you're faster than should be possible.”

“I make friends easily,” she said with a wicked grin, and bolted back into the fray, sword swinging upwards to meet his. She could feel her strength draining, utilizing spirits always did that, but damned if she wasn't going to make the most of this fight that she could- too many people were watching.

She gave it everything she had without going dirty- he wasn't that kind of a fighter, so she should keep courteous.

As they tired, they got in more hits on each other, each bruise a victory. They were as easily matched as Isla had hoped. A proper fight. She got in somewhere between two and three times the hits he did, but Cullen hit like a bloody charging bronto, so she figured it fair.

She gave him all the ground he wanted, letting herself be driven back and then darting around him to find a new angle. Eventually he got used to it, and when he landed a hard blow across her hip when she attempted another dodge, Isla had to find a new tactic. This was so much better than fighting Darkspawn or demons.

People were so much more clever.

After a good twenty minutes of giving and taking, she felt the last of her strength ebb, her connection to her eager spirit friends snapping. When it drained from her, feet slowing, she saw him pull back at her slight stagger. She lifted a hand, but he shook his head, smiling down at her.

“I think I've had a decent workout.”

“No, we have to declare a winner,” she protested irritably between gasps for breath. “That was the whole point!”

“You-” Cullen said, leaning on the sword as he lowered the tip into the dirt- “were holding back, Isla. You have no right to say that when you won't even fight me properly.” She was pleased to see he was actually resting his weight on the blade, needing the support.

She laughed, a wheeze. “I was trying to respect the rules of the field. I fight too dirty for you, Cullen.”

“Well, if you aren't going to give it your all, how could I possibly win?”

The sword, dug into the dirt, stayed where it was as he stepped forward and extended his hand to her. With a sigh of defeat, she clasped his arm, leaning in to the touch. “Does this mean I have to buy my own drinks?”

“I will buy your drinks,” he said tolerantly, grinning down at her. “Provided you tell me just what in Andraste's name you were doing.”

“My fighting is generally 'to the death', I was just afraid I was going to go too far,” she admitted.

“I was talking about the disappearing part, Isla,” Cullen said exasperatedly, releasing her arm. “But I appreciate you not killing me. It'd put a damper on the evening.”

“Next time we'll just go for bare-knuckle fighting, it'll be easier,” she said with a grin.

“Yes, I'd love to be frustrated by you dancing circles around me,” he said with a shake of his head, turning back to grab the sparring sword, striding across the ring. “What are you all looking at?! Haven't you ever seen a proper fight before?”

Isla laughed.

Into her second ale, mentally cataloging her bruises, Isla finally got cornered by Leliana.

While Cullen was distracted across the way by the big Qunari guy she would definitely have to try and fight, Isla realized the empty seat across from her had somehow become un-empty. She startled, reaching up and grabbing her chest. Leli laughed, smile only deepening at Isla's accusing look.

“You know I hate it when you appear out of nowhere like that.”

“You can be _such_ a baby,” Leliana said with a teasing lilt. “That was an impressive fight. People are still talking about it.”

“Good. Gotta keep up the reputation or they'll forget I actually exist,” Isla quipped, smile turning a little wry at Leli's knowing look. “Yes, Anora wrote me. Thanks for not opening it.”

“What is it now? Have you gone and antagonized her again?” Leliana sighed exasperatedly.

“My continued existence antagonizes her,” Isla said sourly, and then shook her head. “No, no, it's- there's negotiations afoot and she would rather I didn't go reminding anyone that we don't like each other. It's-”

Isla paused, reminding herself yet again that Leliana wasn't just her best friend, she was a spymaster. And yet, that was a double-sided thing. If Isla didn't tell her, she'd probably find out soon anyways.

“Politically complicated.”

“You don't wish for me to use it,” Leliana said with quiet understanding.

“Not until you find out some other way? I know it's too much to ask, but-”

“If I can, I will. I am sorry that is the best I can give you.”

Isla took the hand extended to her and squeezed it, smiling. “I love you as you are, shadowy intrigues and all. Uh, Anora's marrying my brother. She thinks I didn't know, except Fergus and I discussed it a long time ago. After losing Oriana- well, Fergus doesn't much care that it's only a political marriage. Highever has to remain secure. Father's family tree is a bit lacking in branches at the moment, and as one of only two Tyerns in the whole of Ferelden, Fergus is the best match.”

“I am so sorry, Isla. I know politics can be a dirty business,” Leliana said sympathetically.

“Eh, it makes my hold on Amaranthine more secure as Fergus keeps saying, so I shouldn't act like a bitch about it. He's is in good spirits, which should really be all that matters. It's his life. I'm just gonna have to live with it. The only consolation is that Anora's about as delighted as I am that we're gonna be sisters.”

“And what about the Cousland name?”

“Well, he's certainly not going to take the name Theirin. If there's any pups I suppose they'll hash it out when it happens. The line of Theirin is dead, she can't pretend it's not by naming her heir it if they make, borrow, or steal one. And Mac Tir? Probably not wise. Loghain's gonna love it when I write him about it. Hey, remember when you tried to kill me? Now we're family! Can I call you pop?” Isla said mockingly.

“No, I can see how he would not care for that. Speaking of Theirin...” Leliana trailed off, with a vaguely sympathetic smile.

“Is he alive?” At Leliana's nod, Isla sighed and reached for her tankard. “That's all I need to know.”

“I do keep an eye on Alistair for you. As much as I can.”

“And because it's politically wise to keep an eye on the only blooded heir to Ferelden?” Isla quipped tiredly. “Wouldn't want to have a bastard's war in times like these.”

“He wouldn't do that.” Leliana sighed as Isla tipped her tankard fully back. “Oh, now I've gone and ruined your mood. I'm sorry, dear.”

“No, no,” Isla denied, coming up from the bottom of her tankard. The silty Dwarven ale settled in her stomach, bringing a familiar warmth. “I'm fine. Just tense, but I have been for a very long time. I'd ask if you have some sort of fancy Orlesian masseuse around here but I'm covered in bruises and that probably wouldn't help.”

“I'm certain you would have no trouble finding an evening's companion to help you work some of the tension out, Isla,” Leliana said with a smile. “You never have.”

“Hey, I offered, he hasn't given me an answer yet,” Isla said with a shrug, grinning to herself as she met Cullen's eyes across the upper balcony as he straightened up from the table he'd been leaning over. She lifted her tankard, and waggled it, and he gave her a nod.

“I cannot comprehend your taste in men,” Leliana sighed with vague disapproval.

“Disastrous,” Isla quipped. “Need I remind you that your taste in women is at least as bad?”

Leliana gave her a dead-eyed stare. Isla grinned broadly, enduring the slow, disapproving shake of Leli's head. It held as another tankard was thumped down in front of Isla, the chair next her scooted out. The staring contest continued. There was a pause, and then Cullen awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Or am I interrupting?”

“No, I was just leaving,” Leliana said, and then finally cracked, laughing faintly. “Isla, I'll see you off before you go. Don't think I don't know that you're leaving so no one thinks to suggest you go to Halamshiral.”

“Busted,” Isla said cheerfully, Cullen chuckling as he settled. “You wouldn't want me there, I'd start An Incident.”

“It would at least be memorable. Good night. No drunken crawling into my bed again,” Leliana said, laughing at Isla's disappointed 'aww'. She disappeared as silently as she'd appeared, melting into the shadows.

Isla watched her go, cheek resting in her palm.

It was so good to spend time with Leli again; she'd missed her awfully.

“Well now I feel awkward for sitting next to you instead of across from,” Cullen laughed.

Tilting her head to the side and glancing up at him, Isla grinned, grabbing the tankard. “It's fine. Thanks for the drink. So, what's the word?”

“It seems you have a slight lead. There is some debate, but the majority are agreeing that you may have won,” he said, and then chuckled when she hissed a quiet 'yesss'. “Try not to let it go to your head, Isla.”

“Oh, I'm going to. Not only am I going to let it go to my head, I'm going to hold it over yours,” she threatened, grinning at him over the top of her tankard when he gave her a dark look. “For years, Cullen. Every time we speak.”

“Except you _didn't_ win,” he said. “You failed to fight me properly, so how can we say that either one of us could possibly win?”

“I don't think you wanted me knee-kicking, groin-bashing, dirt-throwing, or hair-pulling, Cullen. Or showing you just why I don't bother sharpening my sword-” At his curious look, she laughed. “I told you about how Justice taught me to fight with the spirits' help.”

“Yes,” he said, vaguely uncomfortable like he had been when he badgered it out of her two drinks ago.

“I guess it's just like- putting an edge on my blade. More or less. Except the blade is spirit magic,” she said, laughing when his face only got more uncomfortable. “Okay, okay, I'll drop it. Your Templar is showing, Cullen.”

He scowled at her, but couldn't maintain it for long. Shaking his head, he picked up his tankard. “Well, I suppose there's stranger things out there. Still, I saw how much it took out of you. Not sharpening your sword is reckless, you still might need to use it for its intended purpose. Don't leave until you've had it taken care of, Isla.”

“You're not my Commander,” she sniped mockingly, and then laughed at his eye-roll. “Sorry. You gotta win to be the boss of me.”

He seemed relaxed, his laugh easy, cascading pleasantly low. She propped her cheek up on her hand, idly toying with her tankard. Their eyes met, and his smile softened. “What?”

“You just have a really nice voice, I like it when you laugh.”

Instantly he went flustered, which was fun too, clearing his throat and lifting his tankard as his eyes averted. “I- well, thank you.”

His reaction only encouraged the mischievous little thought that had been bouncing around in her head since the conversation had started. Isla wasn't normally the pushy type, she liked to just put it out there and if it happened great, if not, no big deal, but...it hadn't escaped her notice that he had yet to say no. He just side-stepped.

“Well, there is one way to determine once and for all who won,” she said, lifting her tankard again.

“Besides public opinion?” he asked, a crackle of humor in his voice.

“Yep. We just have to count and compare bruises. Obviously the one with the worse bruises is the loser. Never fails.”

“That does make sense,” Cullen said musingly.

“Yeah, so take off your shirt,” she ordered, reaching for hers. When Cullen immediately started sputtering, she did everything she could to not start laughing, forcing her face to stay innocent. Pulling the loose linen out of her belt, she yanked it up past her ribcage. “I think you got me really good h-”

Cullen grabbed her wrist and pulled her arm back down, voice low and urgent. “Isla! Stop that! Maker's breath, we're in the middle of the tavern!”

“No, we're in a shadowy back corner because I like lurking,” she corrected him impishly. “Nobody's looking.”

“Someone is always looking,” he retorted, hand still on her wrist.

Laughing blithely, she glanced over her shoulder to prove that yeah- there were eyes on them. It didn't bother her, but maybe he was a little more shy. “Fine, then we can take it somewhere-”

The hand on her wrist tightened, and Cullen pulled her around and in.

Isla was silenced with a kiss.

In blank shock, she went still. While her mind still had no fucking idea what was going on, the rest of her had already decided that she was completely okay with this. More than okay. Especially with a kiss like that, impulsively fierce and hungry.

The hand left her wrist as she leaned into him, sliding around her waist instead.

As abruptly as it began, it was over, but Isla wouldn't let him escape too far. His nose brushed against hers, breath brushing across her gently throbbing lower lip. The slight quirk of her lips was echoed by his, the barest curve in the small quiet space between them.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, fingertips on her jaw.

“If you ever apologize again, I'll _make_ you sorry,” she teased in return, smiling as his faint chuckle brushed her cheek. “What happened to 'someone is always looking'?”

When he immediately went stiff she started laughing helplessly. Her fingers curled in against his back as he grumbled and tried to free himself. Eventually she relented, but wasn't any less amused. He tore himself away from her, glancing around them quickly with a heavy clear of his throat.

Isla didn't bother to hide her slightly-malicious amusement. “The damage is done, Cullen!”

“Maker's breath,” he groaned, wiping a hand down his face. She couldn't help the laugh, but it didn't annoy him, a grudging smile touching his lips.

Isla crossed her arms under her chest, raising an eyebrow. “I guess that answers a question I've been avoiding asking.”

“What question?” Cullen was still glancing around them, but Isla kept her eyes on his face, amused by the uncertainty. There was plenty of gossip going around this place, and Isla had learned by now that if you didn't give people something they'd just make something up anyways. So, what was the point in not doing what you wanted?

The made-up gossip was usually worse, anyways.

“Just if you were interested or not, since you never actually answered me.”

“I hadn't really let myself entertain the idea,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “At least not consciously.”

“Less thinking is usually better anyways,” Isla said, amused. “You should probably stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” he blinked and finally glanced back down at her.

“Thinking. Way less thinking. More doing,” Isla said, smiling slowly at his dubious look. “Way more doing.”

He cleared his throat roughly, looking embarrassed. “The situation is complicated, Isla, and-”

“No it's not,” she contradicted. “It is literally not complicated at all. It is the opposite of complicated, Cullen.”

“But Evelyn-”

“Is, and I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings, entirely okay with it.” His look of shock brought a half-smile to her lips, and Isla tilted her head to the side. “I'm not stupid, Cullen. I'm not about to start drama. That's the opposite of what I want.”

“You spoke to-”

She interrupted his aggrieved sputtering, reaching out and grabbing him by the front of his shirt. “Stop. Thinking.”

Isla twisted, dragging him in closer, until they were practically nose to nose again. She noticed that he didn't fight her much, only a token resistance. Their eyes met, and she smiled slowly, shaking her head. “How long do you need to freak out and be all conflicted or whatever?”

“I ah-” he glanced down, and then back up again. This time he looked a little less lost, something of the edge of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Ten minutes?”

“Great. I'll meet you in your office in fifteen,” she said, releasing his shirt. “You can have the extra five to stew.”

She leaned back entirely from him this time, turning to face the table. Half of her ale left. It'd be a waste not to finish it, after all. Isla didn't say another word, leaning back and slinging an arm behind her seat. After a few seconds of silence, Cullen finally rose.

She smiled smugly to herself as she watched him head for the stairs and leave.

Isla took her time.

It was a shame to leave Cullen's unfinished ale there, even if it was weak Ferelden stuff. Her tongue had changed too much, it just didn't hit the right way any more. So she finished hers, then she finished his, head still entirely clear. Would be a nice change from last time.

She sat through the whispers and looks, greeted the few people who stopped to say hello. A few more drinks were politely refused. Once both tankards were empty, she finally rose, heading on out into the noisy Skyhold night.

This was a nice place, far different from Amaranthine. Evelyn'd gotten herself a decent keep. Certainly even more impregnable than home up here in the mountains, bits of missing wall and all. Cullen was doing a decent job with the guard rotations and the coverage. She would have had more guards in the hall and less on the walls, but she also trusted an Orlesian about as far as she could-

Well, no. Isla could throw pretty far.

Thumbs in her belt, she hopped her way up the stairs to the battlements, humming idly under her breath. The cold air was bracing, wind whipping past and making the thin skin of her neck tingle. Sure, her nose was numb, but she'd spent plenty of muddy, snowy Ferelden winters in nothing but a vest and trousers, out fighting in the yard.

It kept the blood flowing.

The door at the top was cracked. She pushed her way inside, the burst of warmth flooding her cheeks with color. There wasn't really time to take in the space, because she didn't even have a chance to close the door before she was slammed into it, ass and shoulders. If she'd had brain in her head, the word 'ambush' might have described what had just happened.

Well, Cullen was a tactician.

If the other kiss had been hungry, this one was starving, a thumb nudging under her chin to push it up, his frame looming over her as he plastered her against the door. It thumped closed, but he kept pressing his advantage until they were hip to hip, his other arm braced over her head. Not at all opposed, she reached back and slid her hands under his shirt, fingers curling against his lower back. Any pain from her bruises could be ignored.

The kiss broke roughly, barely. “You said fifteen.”

“A little extra anticipation never hurt anything,” she said, turning to rest the line of her jaw against his palm, his thumb dragging down her throat.

“I beg to differ.”

“I like begging,” she said wickedly, eyes closing as his lips brushed under her ear, sensitive skin tingling. “Either giving or receiving.”

“You're going to be the death of me,” he protested against her, but she could definitely feel his interest. It was hard not to, with the way they were melted together. Which was undeniably nice, but there were way too many clothes in the way. Far too many.

Isla dragged his shirt up his back, stalled at about the shoulders due to the fact that the man would not move. The slight drag of his teeth against the side of her neck was pleasant and sent all sorts of squirming sensations down into the pit of her stomach, but she was _trying_ to do something. She tugged once, twice, and then the third was a pretty hard yank. She felt him smile.

“I have a knife in my boot,” she threatened.

With a warm sigh he pulled back far enough for her to pull it over his head, stripping it off and to the side. And then she threw it into his face. While he was distracted, staggering back in surprise, she jerked her own halfway-untucked shirt out of her pants and threw it to the side. Isla wasn't going to go through another round of tug-of-war.

When he recovered, the glare he turned on her faded very quickly. She dropped her loose shirt to the floor, laughing and reaching out both hands as he surged towards her again, grabbing the waistband of his trousers. “Let me fucking undress you,” she scolded. Sighing in irritation as he ignored her, she found her hands abruptly squashed between them, pinned in place as he went back to biting the side of her neck. Hip to hip, but not chest to chest, he left enough space for one calloused hand to slide between them, lazily fondling her breast, the rough texture of his skin a pleasant contrast as it dragged over her nipple.

“Let me take my time,” he contradicted her, a hint of tension in his voice.

Wicked humor brought a lazy grin to her lips. “What, is this because I said last time was over too quick? Don't worry, I like quick.”

She hissed out a breath between her teeth when he twisted her nipple in retaliation, not making the tension in her gut any better. Especially not when he bit her, too, just hard enough to leave a brief throb when the skin escaped his teeth. Her trapped fingers tried to sneak their way downward- he was strong, but then again, so was she.

“Gimmie,” she demanded impishly.

With a sigh, he abruptly pulled back, releasing her. Confused by the abrupt shift, she reached after him, only to get grabbed by the shoulder and spun around. Blinking, she craned her head back over her shoulder, not entirely displeased to be met by a kiss.

One arm slid around her stomach, pulling her ass back against his hips, and the other returned to her chest, idly massaging her other breast. Hard to complain with him grinding up against her like that. Still, it was annoying that he was hard and ready like that and they were still both wearing pants.

The kiss broke, breathless and wet, and she groaned at him in frustration. “Fuck me.”

“Maybe you shouldn't have made me wait,” he replied against her lips.

She might have complained more, but then his hand was sliding down the front of her pants. His breath shuddered against her shoulder as he found her wet and ready, a slick, idle exploration ending in a caress that found her her clit too sensitive, uncomfortably so. She denied it in a wordless murmur and a squirm.

He let off instantly and let her reach down and guide him, fingers briefly twisting together down the front of her pants. When she withdrew, fingers stroking up the back of his palm, any complaints were long dead. Thank the Maker for a man who listened.

A few small adjustments and it was _perfect_ , and she was too wound up to do much but slump against the door, held up by his arm as he mercilessly drove her to orgasm. Pleasure tightened in her stomach, rising gasps torn from her throat as he buried his face in the curve of her neck and ground into her ass. When she came it was hard and furious, shuddering violently against him as he pushed her through it. Isla slammed a hand against the door, fingers curling, digging in.

He didn't stop.

She needed it to, it was too much, but her body didn't seem to care. It should have been over, but the slippery stroke of his fingers teased another shudder out of her, and another, her faint cries getting strained, and desperate. He didn't stop until the last peak of pleasure was so sharp it roused a pained whimper, his hand going still as she collapsed. Tremors eased into faint trembling, over-sensitive and overwhelmed.

The lips on her neck gentled, pressing a slow, caressing kiss to lightly sweaty skin.

“That's better,” he declared, with a hint of smugness she couldn't deny he'd earned.

There was probably something smart she could have said, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath. So she closed her eyes and tried to calm the pounding of her heart as he undid her belt and slid the pants down her hips. There was a small caress to the bruise on her hip, a quiet apology, but she just shook her head.

“It was a good fight,” she finally said, when she remembered how talking worked.

“It was,” he agreed in a slow, pleasantly confident voice, and then chuckled. “I am going to carry you to the desk. Is that all right?”

“Oh fuck yes,” she murmured.

He scooped her up into his arms, which was always nice when someone could manage it with her leggy self. When his thighs bumped the desk she lifted a hand to nudge his chin into a kiss, which rapidly went from lazy to heated. She could feel the urgency in him now.

Good.

When he dropped her on the edge of the desk, he immediately released her. Leaning over her, a hand reached behind her, and she heard things clattering to the ground, impatiently thrown aside. The kiss continued even with his hands off of her, tongues tangling, lips barely brushing and then bruising. Still lazy and satisfied, she was pliant as he reached down and pushed her knees apart, spreading her thighs. The kiss broke, but he was staring into her eyes as he reached down and unlaced his pants.

It was a little more intimate than she was used to, but Isla was long past the point of making demands.

His hand slid up her thigh, fingers curling behind her knee. It pulled her up, hips flush against him as he leaned over her, pushing her down against the desk. She wrapped her legs around him, a heavy breath escaping as he ground in against her, rock-hard against her stomach. Something fell onto the floor with a clatter. She would have protested as he reached for her wrists and pulled her hands off of him, but then he was kissing her breathless again and nothing else mattered.

Her knuckles hit the desk with a thump and a sting as he laced his fingers through hers, the weigh of his upper body keeping her pinned.

Cullen pulled back from the kiss, and she stared up at him blearily, pleased by the way his lower lip trembled as he panted for breath, but confused by the continued lack of fucking. Her brain managed a small, wordless noise of inquiry. He released one of her hands, the other still pinned to the desk. A slow stroke started under her lower lip, down the length of her throat as her head tilted back, and then down between her breasts.

His palm slid down her stomach, and she sighed in relief as his hips pulled back from her at last.

“Beautiful,” he declared, voice rough and low in a way that felt almost as good as the touch of his fingers.

Whatever restraint he had was thankfully over as she felt him at last. There was no exploration, no teasing, just the nudge of the head of his cock sliding in to find her entrance, and then he was thrusting, hard and fast. The clench of his hand through hers was so hard it almost hurt, but that was all that did- she'd been ready for what damn well felt like ages. The bruises meant nothing, the slight ache as she was forced to stretch around him was too fucking good for anything but a moan.

He did pause once, hesitant and halfway in, but her thighs tightened around him and he gave in. One surge of his hips, two, and then he was slamming her ass against the edge of the desk, hilted so fucking deep inside her. She let him pin her other hand again, hips grinding against hers as he breathed out against her ear in a desperate shudder.

“...all right?” he asked her, tense and breathless.

She'd barely nodded when whatever it was left of his control snapped. As he started fucking her in earnest, it was what she'd been waiting for and wanting, hard and fast and shallow, but somehow it was even better with all of the build up of before. He thrust desperately, the frantic slap of skin against skin filling the air, punctuated by his deep groans.

There was no kissing now, just the press of his panting lips against her neck, the clutch of his fingers threaded through hers. Each punishing thrust made her hips throb, driving her inch by inch further onto the desk, knocking things heedlessly onto the floor. When he came, it was abrupt and shocking, unannounced except for the hot spill of a curse against her ear.

Chest to chest, she felt the shudders course through him, her thighs tightening as she was pressed down against the wood, grinding her into it as he gasped in relief. One last shallow thrust, two, and she felt the tension leaving him, muscle by muscle as he gasped. A heady wave of relaxation coursed through her, hands going limp, thighs softening their grip.

A stillness overtook them both as they panted for breath.

Seconds slid by, hazy and indistinct.

The silence stretched between them, but at least on her end it wasn't uncomfortable. Isla just lazily luxuriated in it, in the long-needed relaxation that left her pleasantly limp. When his hand released her and slid down her thigh to get her to release him, she did so reluctantly. The sensation of him sliding out of her, moisture trickling, did rouse a small squirm. He chuckled faintly, sounding so pleased and easy that it brought a warmth to her stomach.

When she glanced up at his face, drowsily through her lashes, there wasn't anything in his expression that might cause her any concern. Good. Hopefully no regret this time.

When he touched her chin lightly, drawing her attention away from a pleased survey of his sweaty chest, she tilted her head curiously into the caress.

“What do I have to do to convince you to stay the night?” he asked, with that little half smile that she liked even more every time she saw it.

“That,” she replied, smile widening at his breathless chuckle. “At least one more time.”

“I believe...that could be arranged."


	36. A Parting of Ways

“I'm proud of this one.”

A finger idly traced down his shoulder blade, skirting the edge of the bruise without touching it. Cullen managed to turn his head to the side, pulling himself out of the pillow. Somehow looking entirely too awake still, Isla smiled with a cocky tilt of her lips, positively smug.

“Yes, well, if you hadn't been cheating-”

“Cheating?!” she asked, voice crackling over the word a bit roughly. She cleared her throat, swallowed, and then leaned in to accuse, “you were the one who told me I was holding back, need I remind you. You can't have it both ways.”

“There's a difference between using all of your martial prowess and-” There he paused, trying to find a way to phrase it that wouldn't offend her. From her knowing look, she was already aware of that. “Borrowing abilities, if you must mince words.”

“I must,” she said breezily, amber eyes crinkling at the corners, glowing in what remained of the candlelight from below. “It's not the same. It's just asking friends for a bit of help- the spirits love it. It's all just a game for them. I've spent too much of my life knee-deep in horror to turn away a single friend, Cullen, no matter how they present themselves.” Her finger idly traced down the line of his shoulder and over his upper arm, and any other protests he might have made melted away.

There was an odd nostalgia there- not in lying in bed with her, certainly not, but in her presence, seeing her face. All the old, poisonous feelings were long gone, but she treated their interactions back in Ferelden with so much easy understanding that it was like she was stealing the bitterness from the memories. Softening their edges. Something must have shown on his face, because her perpetual smile turned puzzled.

“I regret that I hated you,” he admitted quietly, smiling as she laughed. “You saved my life, and then- in my own muddled head- I thought you betrayed me when you sided with the mages. I was so angry, Isla. For a long time.”

She clasped her hand on his shoulder and rested her chin on it, a breath away from their noses touching. “You'd just been through hell, Cullen. You're not perfect, no, but neither am I, and neither is anyone else in Thedas. The important thing is that we've both kept trying to be good people, instead of giving up or giving in. Do you feel _good_ about this cause?”

“I do,” he said without hesitation, smiling slowly to himself. “We've already done so much good. Set so much right. I feel every failure, suffer every loss, but the victories are there and they are so important.”

“Commander of the armies of the Inquisition,” she said, teasingly. “A long way.”

“And the Hero of Ferelden isn't a long way from when we first met?”

Her smile faded around the edges, eyes growing distant. He reached out a hand, stroking along the line of her jaw, wandering over the unfamiliar scar, and she focused back in. Her smile was chagrined.

“My story's long over, Cullen. I keep joking about it, but...being here kind of makes it feel inevitable. The older Wardens like to talk about us being forgotten, but I'm watching it happen to me and suddenly it all makes sense. I'm not saying I want another Blight, but it's so uncomfortable feeling like people wish you disappeared. Like they're grateful we all die before our time. Maybe that's why I hide in the Deep Roads.”

Despite the lightness of her voice, he could see the way her eyes darkened, making her smile just a bit brittle. He shifted his fingers up to tap the corner of it, lightly. “Don't ever feel the need to lie to me. That must be difficult, I am sorry that you have that hanging around your neck. It is-”

“Life,” she interrupted simply. Reaching up, she removed his hand from her cheek. “I'm resigned to it, Cullen. Things will always be unstable. All I can do is dig in and protect my people until we're needed again. Secure our future.”

“Ah, is that why you're here?” he teased quietly, pleased when that garnered him a soft laugh. “I see, I see. Not because you believe in the Inquisition, no.”

“No, sorry,” she admitted, and he found it didn't bother him in the least. She was a Warden, and a pragmatist, and she'd made her goals clear from the start. “I'm here for Leli, like I always would be, and I always will be...and for my cousins, and because this instability affects us all. But mostly for the Wardens. We're on unstable ground as it is- and I know that's part of why they acted so rashly, but- ah, Maker, I don't want to rehash it.”

“Then we won't. There's no need.”

She gave a small 'hmmh'. His mind was fairly hazy, but relaxed and comfortable in a way he hadn't felt in a very long time. Certainly the physical relaxation had a culprit, the first, second, and possibly second and a half or third time, but there was a strange alchemy to her company in private that chased away the worries of the mind.

She was a comfortable person to be around.

“You are so done,” she teased, laughing at his faint groan of denial. “You are! I can see those dark circles under your eyes.”

“I haven't slept well in some time,” he admitted, shifting his posture. She willingly moved her chin off of his shoulder as he rolled onto his back. Instinct told him to pull her in, but his mind held him back. She'd agreed to stay the night, he shouldn't push.

Should he?

While he waffled in conflict, Isla cut right through it by tucking her head back on his shoulder in the new position, shifting over when his arm nudged her side. She let him wrap it around her as she curled in against him. Strange how she was so battle-hardened, but soft at the same time, a thigh tucking over his, the pliant curve of her breast pressing against his ribcage.

Maker, he must be tired, because while it was undeniably pleasant, he was too worn for it to rouse anything.

“Go to sleep,” she teased quietly.

“I will,” he agreed, and then faltered, tired mind trying to find a way to properly encapsulate the evening. It failed him, and what escaped was awkward and strained. “This was...really nice.”

Isla once again banished his awkwardness with no effort at all. She just laughed, low and content. “Yeah. And now I'm off to slaughter Darkspawn and you to Orlais. I think I've got the better end of it.”

“You're extremely Ferelden,” he accused quietly, eyes drifting closed as she chuckled, arm sliding across his chest.

“Us doglords gotta stick together, Cullen.”

“As much as I might agree...this is larger than Ferelden versus Orlais,” he said quietly, weighted by the press of her body against his chest. It had been too long. There was something grounding and comforting in it. “There are things...” He couldn't quite remember what he'd been saying.

“Go to sleep,” she laughed quietly. “You're barely coherent.”

There was a press of lips to his temple, an arm wrapping tightly around him. He drifted off into that comfort despite all his protestations, lured into the depths of sleep. And he slept.

He only awoke twice from the nightmares, and each time she was there. He felt badly for waking her, but she seemed to not mind in the least- once again setting him at ease. The memories were hazily indistinct, but comforting.

They had been so much worse since he stopped taking lyrium.

For the first time in a long time, however, he managed to get what amounted to a proper sleep. When he woke up, she was still there. Unfortunate that she was leaving, but he wouldn't dare say that to her. It would have been inappropriate.

Still, he hated to see her leave.

Curled up against Callum's side, listening to him scritching away at his writings, Evelyn dozed.

Soon they would be travelling again, and she had to be well-rested and prepared. It felt as if she would leave piles and piles of business behind her in need of completion, but with Halamshiral approaching they simply did not have time. She had been up too late, and woke too early, and had been banished by Josephine for a few hours for the crime of falling asleep on top of a letter she was writing.

Callum had never minded her popping up to invade his space.

The letter that had come from Sebastian yesterday afternoon was tucked into the pocket of her belt, a habit she had suddenly taken to for some odd reason. It was only convenient, that was all. Sometimes she liked to re-read them.

“Are brothers allowed to take part in the Grand Tourney? They ought to bring back caber tossing and the hammer throw, no matter what the Orlesians think of it. You'd excel.”

She felt Callum chuckle silently, and Evelyn smiled drowsily.

“Caber tossing's a bit too out of fashion for prideful Starkhaven, wee Poppy, ” he murmured, voice a soothing rumble of sound.

“If they're too weak for the contest they should just admit it.”

“If-” Callum was interrupted by his door banging open, early morning light flooding in and overtaking the candlelight.

Evelyn gave a murmur of protest.

“Maximilian, you know how to knock,” Callum said, exasperated and low. “What- slow down, your sister is here- I need to trans-” Finally he cut off, heaving a long sigh. Evelyn slowly uncurled herself, pulling up and peering over the low back of the half-sofa in front of Callum's desk. Eyes narrowed, she peered at Max, who was in the doorway rapidly signing. Gradually the darkened blur of him clarified and she could pick out what he was saying.

“-come down.”

“See what?” she asked, lifting a hand over the back of the couch.

“Our cousin is leaving for the Storm Coast,” Max replied, with a quick grin. “Come say goodbye, Hedgehog, Bear.”

“Isla and I spoke briefly yesterday. I have work to do, tender my farewells,” Callum dismissed, glancing down at Evelyn as she rubbed her face into his shoulder, trying to banish sleep. “Poppy?”

“I'll go, it's only f-” She cracked a yawn, silencing the rest of her sentence. Leaning over, she planted a kiss on Callum's bristly cheek, sliding off of the couch. “I've distracted you from your important work enough. Thank you, Bear.”

“Aye, aye,” Callum agreed. As Evelyn staggered to her feet, wiping both hands over her face, he lifted his voice. “Badger?”  
“Aye?” Max signed, standing in the doorway. His free hand tucked around Evelyn as she staggered into him.

“I've sent word to Mother that you're courting. She'd like to meet your young woman in Halamshiral, make sure it happens,” Callum said and signed, in his usual plodding monotone.

As Max started sputtering, Cal turned around, ignoring his offense. Hiding her own giggles, Evelyn pulled him out of the small, comfortable room, dragging him into the courtyard. She wasn't in the least bit sorry. Max would pay the price for trying to hide it from all of them.

They padded down the stairs, leaving Callum's little room behind. She needed to send a rug. It was placed on her mental list somewhere, likely to be remembered abruptly in the middle of the night. She kept waking up and remembering things, it was frustrating and kept her from getting proper sleep.

“The complete bastard!”

“Oh, but you deserve it entirely,” Evelyn signed, enjoying the about-face. “You tried to court in secret and then rub it right in my face.”

“That wasn't what I was doing!”

Max's protest was signed over his head as he stomped away from her. Smirking, Evelyn followed, clutching the arm tucked out for her to grab again. Halfway through the courtyard he spun, scowling down at her. She reached up, patting both of his cheeks, smile unrestrained. He narrowed his eyes at her. Evie dropped her hands to sign.

“You shouldn't hide things from me. I hate that you did. I thought you were my other half, the person who knows me best. But you don't want me to know you any more.”

Evelyn meant it to be blithe, but she knew her signs were plodding, careful. She couldn't help it. Deep in her gut there was a protective instinct that demanded she wrap herself around him to fend off every barb and hurt. That she know everything, see everything. That part of her hurt over being excluded from his life.

He'd made it plain that it wasn't what he wanted any more.

Still, it lingered.

“You were,” he signed slowly, as they stood facing each other. Slowly he drew her in, exhaling heavily as they came together. She hugged him with one arm, leaning in to his side. “You do know me best, and you always will. But I fear we know each other too well, hedgepig.”

“I don't know what that means,” she retorted stubbornly, chagrin rising as he saw the tear before it spilled, thumbing it from the corner of her eye.

“I want us to be two people,” he signed out of the corner of her vision. “Please. You're not mother. Please don't be her now. You've always stood against the world for me, now I need you to stand against yourself for me. I was wrong not to tell you, but hedgehog, I couldn't think of any better way. I'm sorry.”

She didn't know how it had come to this now, or why, but the tears overflowed. He held her close as she tried to breathe in and it shuddered, clinging to him. She was still tired, foggy, and it made it all the worse.

“I don't want to lose you.”

“We're not 'the twins', we're Max and Evie. Just admitting that and living our own lives doesn't mean that you're losing me.”

Evelyn shook her head violently, breathing out against his neck as he cradled her head and pulled her in for a brief hug. She felt small, and stupid, and lonely, as she admitted, “no one else would love me if they knew me as well as you do.”

He pulled back, and smiled with a wry hint of sarcasm. “Would you let anyone try?”

“Rude,” she accused. “I know I'm not perfect, but going behind my back...”

“It was the only way I could have something that was only mine for once.” The sign was sharp, frustration on his face. “I didn't want you hovering over me every step of the way, or interrogating her, or trying to protect me. Andraste's knickers, Evie. Maybe I'm the only person in Thedas who could be this blunt with you, so I suppose it's on me. You can be an overbearing, pigheaded pain in my ass, and if I hadn't gone behind your back you would have hounded both of us.”

“I would not have!” she protested. The words didn't sting, not from him- they'd certainly had much worse fights and said much worse things. “I just want to know things!”

“You just want to _control_ things,” he signed. “You're such a spoiled brat.”

“I am not!” Shocked, she stared at him, shoving a hand into his shoulder. It didn't even rock him. “I am a grown woman! The Inquisitor! How dare you!”

“You are all of those things, and a spoiled brat,” he retorted, and then smiled softly when she sniffled again, watery. “Oh, no tears, hedgepig. Hush. I told you as soon as I felt safe enough to do so. I just wanted to do things in my own way, in my own time.”

“I don't understand how Callum already knew, though.”

“He's always been a noticer,” Max signed, pulling her onward. They pushed through the door, heading for the great hall shoulder to shoulder. “I needed this time. I- you are the closest to anyone of understanding what it's been like for me, and yet even you can't, hedgehog. I've spent my whole life convinced I was doomed to a life I didn't want. For the crime of being born-”

“Don't you dare say wrong!” Evelyn signed it angrily, trying not to shout it out loud.

“Different than what they wanted me to be, then. I love mother as much as anyone, but the way she's always treated me was wrong, hedgehog. The Chantry should be a choice, not-” He paused, frustrated, and then shook his head. “Not a dumping ground, like they treated it for me, for Sebastian. I have just as much right to want a family and a future outside of it, and mother never saw that and never will.”

They paced the hall, walking side-by-side but turned towards each other, like they had a thousand times before.

“I've always fought for you.”

“Then fight yourself for me. Let me be me. You are the shield at my back. Don't just protect me- protect us. Josephine and I. Please.” He paused in front of the open great doors, turning to face Evelyn. “I'm really coming to care for her, in a way I haven't let myself feel before. I need space. I need time. And I need my best wee sister at my back and not trying to lead me by the hand.”

“All I've ever wanted for you was for you to be happy.”

“And that's what I want for you, too. Happiness. But your happiness and my happiness, they're two different things. I won't let you tantrum me into being a part of you.”

This time it was his eyes that were a little wet, though he would deny it if she said so. Evelyn smiled, regret heavy and weighing, but not breaking her. He was right, even if he was forever a boor and a bastard in the way he phrased things.

Still, guilt was there, and must be admitted.

“I feel awful that when I looked at our future, it was always you beside me. Alone.”

“We both assumed that. I spent too much time depending on you, I think. Letting you fight my battles. Maybe I'm a coward, but you're the strongest person I've ever known and the only one who could possibly stand up to our mother. You gave me my freedom.”

“No,” she denied in a single sign. “It's not cowardice. It was survival. But now you can thrive, and I shouldn't hold you back because I depend on you so. I love you, so much.”

“And I love you,” Max confirmed, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Nothing will ever change that. Come, let's say goodbye to our Isla. Did you hear Cullen kissed her last night in the tavern?”

“No!” Evelyn denied in a laugh, effervescently pleased. She should still be upset with the conversation, but this bit of gossip felt like a weight lifted off her shoulders. She should so like to be friends with Cullen again. “He kissed her?”

“Oh aye. Going about like wildfire. I swear, soldiers are worse gossips than nobility.”

“I'm delighted. Isla said she was interested, so I'm glad it's working out. Oh, I'm so pleased. You know, it's rare that I like someone enough to forgive them for-” There she paused, not certain how to phrase it properly.

“The profound betrayal of being interested in you?” Max signed, quick and sharp. There was a sly smile on his face.

Evelyn just scowled, tugging on his arm as he laughed at her. They headed down the stairs together, and she finally felt at peace with him again, tucked against his side. Things had been strange, but he was right. She should let him change, she should let him be him. Max had been restricted his whole life, and in giving him his freedom she should let him decide what it looked like.

Old instincts were strong, but they should not rule her.

At peace with her brother now, feeling a renewed sense of purpose, Evelyn pondered the path ahead. Mother would be difficult about it. She knew that with six children she'd always felt that three should be with the Chantry and three married. The moment they'd realized Max was Deaf, mother had decided he'd be one of them, and Evelyn, for the crime of being the only daughter, couldn't possibly be given to the Chantry.

As much as she loved mother, there was absolutely no part of that she could call right. It was all wrong. Especially her reasoning about Max, which was both wrong and horribly cruel, even if she had never meant to be. Mother didn't think him a family embarrassment, at least, she just had decided for some reason it would be 'easiest' for him.

Plus, she disapproved of his desire to be an artist.

At least making art for the Chantry was 'acceptable', but being a portraitist? No, no, it Wasn't Done. It implied a certain impious, frivolous nature, and that Wouldn't Do for a Trevelyan. Utter nonsense.

Evelyn would be his shield. He would have his happiness, in whatever form it took, and she would not let anyone gainsay or shun him. Family was family, and mother would accept him or she would have to face Evelyn. It did make her dread going to Halamshiral a bit more, though.

There were voices in the stable, and she pulled Max back before he could go wandering in. He raised an eyebrow at her, and then grinned when she lifted a finger to her lips. Stepping closer, she grabbed the edge of the door and peeked in, squinting into the gloom.

Isla and Cullen were talking as she loaded up her bags on her horse. Saying farewell, it looked like. Max nudged her shoulder, but Evelyn waved him off with a quick sign. She wouldn't have interrupted them for anything, their body language- at least his- was rather private.

It wasn't spying, she was being thoughtful.

When Isla turned to walk away, Cullen reached out and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her around and into a passionate kiss that had Evelyn's cheeks turning red, a giggle barely hidden behind her hand. Max immediately grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back with a chiding look. She just smiled, unrepentant.

“I was being polite.”

“Liar. Give them some space, we'll say goodbye in the yard.”

He grabbed her by the arm and gave her no choice, despite her protests. It wasn't that she wanted to snoop! She was just curious about things between them. It wasn't fair that people always tried to keep things from her. Isla was family, Evelyn had a right to know!

Evelyn pretended to not at all see that she was doing exactly what Max had told her she would.

She could not pretend she didn't see the way Cullen watched Isla go, once they'd said their farewells. Not that she was going to meddle. They were grown people, and they knew their own minds, of course. No one needed to meddle.

But, you know, everyone needed help some times, or a listening ear and some friendly advice.

Even if they didn't ask for it.

People didn't know their own minds, after all, and sometimes they needed a nudge.

Or a push.

Dear Sebastian,

I am not good at things changing.

I never realized it before, but now in this tumult I am feeling it so acutely that I am concerned I neglected to learn these skills all my life. I cling. I see a singular path and I set off on it without a care for any forks in the road. I do not even consider them.

I wonder if that makes me a poor leader, or if it simply means I need to listen more than I do. I wonder if my acceptance of your suit is a symptom of it. I wonder if my rejection of every man before you and after you was as well. And then I wonder if there is any point in wondering at all, because I will only drive myself mad with it. Won't I?

Then again, you have always been too inconstant, too easily convinced to change your mind. Too subject to the opinions of others. Maybe I shall have to lend you some of my pig-headedness, and you may lend me some of your flexibility and together we shall pretend to be well-balanced people. Wouldn't that be nice?

Mother always said it was important to find a balance. I think she and father do balance each other nicely, and not only because he never speaks and she always does. But then, I think they have balanced each other too much at times. Mother listens to nothing and is all opinions, and father listens to everything without giving an opinion. It is strange to feel at last as if I may think of them critically, and be critical of them. I never did when I was at home.

That makes me sound awfully childish, I suppose, but again we have established I find it difficult to change.

I don't want to be my mother, and I would never want you to be like my father, though he is my favourite person in Thedas next to Maximilian. But sometimes I wish he would have stood up for Max more. You must promise to always stand up to me if I become overbearing. Swear it, or I'll never marry you.

Max says I need to be around people who say 'no' to me, which is very rude of him, but I fear he might be correct.

The Maker knows my heart, and all my flaws, and so it isn't as if I should hide from them.

Do you want me still, even knowing that I am a grown woman and still such a messy thing? Then again, you already knew, didn't you? Or at least you have come to know. I wonder if you know me well enough now to say you like me, or to decide if you don't. I think I have come to know you again, at least in part.

I don't hate you any more.

There isn't any point in it, anyways. It is like hating a very amiable rock. Where is the fun in hating someone when they persist in being irritatingly agreeable? You've ruined it. I hope you're pleased with yourself. I am not,

Yours,

Evelyn

P.S. The tea set survives, you didn't need to send another one. I'm not going to throw it unless it's at you. It seems unfair to waste it on anyone else. Do you spend any time ruling your city, or do you just spend all your time picking out presents for me?

The pattern is very sweet, I like the bramble roses.


	37. Old Friends

Fury was rising, and with it the possibility that Evelyn would say something untoward.

“I need a moment,” she said to Bianca as mildly as she could manage, turning around and pacing towards the edge of the ancient stone walkway, away from the newly-locked door of Valammar.

Varric followed, both hands lifted in placation, and she spun on a heel to face him as they came to the edge.

As if she were a wild animal or something; the cheek!

“I will not be badgered into sweetness, Varric,” she told him icily, counting on the distant thunder of water to hide their conversation. There were too many echoes to pick them out.

“I get it. I get why you're upset. I'm upset, too,” he said, voice frustrated. “But do you think you could ease up?”

“Oh! Oh, am I making _her_ uncomfortable?” Evelyn asked, high and shocked, lifting a hand to her chest. Varric sighed. “Maker forbid! I wouldn't want to make her uncomfortable! Varric, the damage she has done is-”

“Over,” he interrupted, giving a frustrated sigh and rubbing his forehead. “It's over. And it's too damn late. We did what we could to clean up after it, and-”

“And she knew how dangerous the red lyrium was! She was the one that built the bloody safe for the stuff! 'Helping you' is no excuse, giving away the location was so reckless- I don't care if she wants to get herself killed, but handing it to Corypheus-”

Varric threw up his hands. “I'm pissed, too! We're on the same side here, Evelyn, would you calm the hell down?!”

His raised voice finally cut through her rage. They stared at each other, her nostrils flaring, hands balled into fists at her side. Finally she forced them to relax, knuckle by knuckle, but she could feel the slight tremor in her jaw.

She breathed out a heavy sigh and let her shoulders slump, and saw Varric relax as well.

“She came with us, that has to count for something.”

“Are you saying that for me, or for yourself?” she asked, and he gave a rough, tired chuckle.

“All right, all right. Listen, it's over with, let's just...get the hell out of here,” Varric said, reaching out to briefly clap her arm, nudging her onward. “We've got a fancy party to attend.”

Forcing a grimacing smile, Evelyn nodded. Her own rage remained, but she could squelch it for Varric's sake. She wasn't about to threaten a high-ranking member of the Merchant's Guild without understanding the political ramifications, but the damage the woman had done, and the betrayal she had-

No, no. That was Varric's business, she had betrayed him, not Evelyn. She shouldn't go sticking her nose into it, no matter how keenly her rage and sense of justice were being pricked.

As Varric trudged back towards the hooded dwarven woman, he lifted his voice. “I think we've done all we can here. Bianca, you'd better get home before someone misses you.” Evelyn heard the hitch in his voice, and it helped solidify her cooling anger into a cold ball of distaste.

Evelyn did not like Bianca Davri.

Bianca glanced between them, voice softening, “Varric...”

Shaking his head, he walked past her without a second glance, hand lifting to tiredly rub the back of his neck. “Don't worry about it.”

Evelyn let him pull ahead at the tired hitch of his voice, but moved to follow, eager to get out of this grim, unpleasant place. A hand reached out, but not quite touching stalled her, and she glanced down and over at Bianca. She wouldn't snap at the woman, but nor would she be friendly. A cool, distant stare down her nose was the most she'd give.

Bianca's face hardened. “Get him killed, and I'll feed you your own eyeballs, Inquisitor.”

Oh.

A threat.

The words lingered, and Evelyn let them, blinking slowly. A punch to the nose would certainty make her point clear with the minimum of fuss. However, it might upset Varric. No, no, it wouldn't do to upset Varric, he'd already had a difficult day.

So instead, Evelyn smiled.

“That _would_ be very unfortunate, because as of this moment he is the only reason you are alive, Bianca.” she said in her most detatched and gentle voice. “Please don't threaten me. I am _much_ better at it than you, and I am exceedingly tired of cleaning up the messes of people. Like. You.”

Ignoring the aggrieved 'excuse me?', Evelyn smiled again and turned to leave. “Maker watch over you and keep you safe.”

They managed to get about five steps before Sera let out a 'snrkt' under her breath, and Evelyn shot her a sidelong look. That apparently only made it worse, because by the time they made it to Varric she was cackling. Blackwall cleared his throat, and Vivienne might have even been hiding the edge of a smirk.

“Great, what did I miss?” Varric asked as they trooped out, tiredly. “Evelyn-”

“I didn't punch her, be grateful,” Evelyn replied, clipped.

Sera kept laughing, the sound echoing as they trudged along. Away from Darkspawn, away from red lyrium, and away from Bianca- Evelyn couldn't get into the fresh air fast enough. Varric was making it difficult, though.

“I'm not saying I'm not, but-”

“She threatened her!” Sera said, and then laughed again as Varric turned an accusing look at Evelyn. “Not her, her! The dwarfy one. Gonna cut out her eyeballs or something.”

“Oh. Seriously? Dammit,” Varric sighed.

“Maker watch over you,” Sera repeated in a mockery of Evelyn's voice, and then started laughing all over again. “You shoulda _heard_ it. She Ladyed her. Knew it had to be good for somethin'.”

There was a rough clear of a throat, and Evelyn glanced sidelong as Blackwall hid a laugh in his gauntleted hand. She gave him a knowing look, arching an eyebrow, and then shook her head slowly.

“I am capable of keeping my temper, you know,” Evelyn sighed, tipping her head to Varric. “I just don't enjoy it, that's all.”

“Well, thanks. I think.”

They shared a tired smile.

Leaving Valammar behind, they headed for the nearest camp as the day waned, light leaching from the sky. Evelyn idly spun a few fancies of revenge, and made note to query Josephine if any of them were politically viable. Still, she kept them quiet. Varric seemed somewhat despondent, and she did not want to make him feel worse.

By the time they'd settled at camp the story had been told about twenty times, even without Evelyn's interference. Sera seemed to find it hilarious. So did Max. Evelyn tolerated it, but found herself rather exasperated by the repetition of it all.

The light was waning, and she knew that if she didn't behave Max and Dorian would be scolding her. It was frustrating, there was embroidery she wanted to finish, but the scene she had made fainting from heatstroke was still an embarrassment she would never repeat. So instead, she took a quick moment to read what letters had come in before the scolding began. There were three from Sebastian, amusingly enough, one of them looking rather battered and old.

Evelyn wondered how many of them had been lost.

They were pleasant enough missives, daily reports of the children and of Starkhaven, not responses directly to anything she had sent. He'd kept his word when he'd said he would write her too much. She was re-reading the most recent one, which would have been sent a few weeks ago, when Vivienne came and sat next to her.

“Preparations for Halamshiral have been completed, my dear. Unfortunately we will need to travel directly there to arrive in time.”

“Josephine assured me that everything we require will be there waiting for us,” Evelyn said, glancing up from the letter with a fading smile. “Speaking of waiting for us...”

“Chevalier Rochard du Vernay will indeed be in Halamshiral. I fear, my dear, that we simply do not have the Orlesian connections to ensure he was denied an invitation.”

“I suppose I should be grateful that none of the other Orlesians that paid court to a mere Marcher Lord's daughter rank high enough to possibly be invited,” Evelyn said, grudgingly. “I'll simply avoid him. Or use Sebastian as a shield. I swear, though, if I hear even a note of that bloody song he wrote-”

“It would be gauche to even consider performing it. The Empress would be offended by the implication,” Vivienne assured her with an understanding smile.

“You were educated in the Game, unlike me, I bow to your superiour wisdom,” Evelyn sighed, reassured but still resigned. “Your mentorship has been invaluable. Do you feel I'm sufficiently prepared?”

“I do believe so, my dear. You had a great deal less to learn than you feared, but if you are still nervous, we have the entire trek there to study. Practicing the Game, however, takes precisely that- practice. You may learn all the steps of a dance, but until you have danced it in company you are not truly educated.”

“And they both involve stepping on toes,” Evelyn quipped, exhaling her nerves in a long, slow sigh as Vivivenne laughed softly. “Ah well. I shall do my utmost.”

“Remember, all you must do is survive long enough for us to uncover the plot and prevent it. Just avoid causing offense.”

“Right,” Evelyn agreed with a small, slow sigh. “Thank you for agreeing to accompany me to the Winter Palace. It's been a difficult decision. I don't wish to put anyone out or make anyone uncomfortable, but I need as much support as I can garner in case things turn to battle.”

“My dear, of course. We are at your back and at your side- never doubt that,” Vivienne said in a gently chiding voice, glancing up from the fire as Sera started shouting again, waving her arms. “As motley as some may be.”

Oddly pleased, a warmth in her chest, Evelyn smiled faintly to herself and gazed into the fire. It was nice to not feel lonely or out of place any longer. When Varric stomped up and plopped down, he waved off the apologetic smile she turned on him.

“It isn't your fault,” he said before she could form the words.

“I could have just let it go by,” she said, and then scoffed at the disbelieving look he turned on her. “I could have!”

“Yeah, right,” Varric said.

The sarcasm was sharp, but where it would have once made her bristle and feel hurt, now Evelyn found the sting was taken out of it. She was a part of the joke, not the joke itself. Smiling faintly to herself, she ducked her head and glanced up and to the side, braid swinging over her shoulder.

“I meant every word,” she admitted wryly, and enjoyed the laughter.

It was good to be home, even if only for the night.

As much as Isla wanted to take the trek out to Amaranthine, it would have to wait until their task was over. It was close, but not close enough. Luckily Highever was easier, and Nathaniel had agreed to meet them there with a small contingent for backup.

She wasn't only being paranoid, but she wanted him to assess the troops as well.

Plus she was a bit annoyed with Howe for having completely ignored the Inquisition's overtures. They'd need to talk about that. She understood it on some level, but now wasn't really the time to make this stand.

Fergus was long asleep and she wouldn't wake him. Isla crossed the old courtyard of Castle Cousland, accepting nods from the guards she passed. All unfamiliar, of course. Almost everyone had died during Rendon's attack all those years ago, and she hadn't been back enough to get to know anyone.

Ignoring the main hall, she went along side, up and down stairs, into the back of the castle. Fergus hadn't pushed her when she'd refused her old room the first time visiting, and there had been some renovations and moving things around. She wasn't going to let the Orlesian Wardens have the good rooms, but her Amaranthine contingent had a nice area now in what had once been the Guard Captain's quarters.

Nathaniel would be in the room she generally used, she hadn't expected to make it until tomorrow.

Slinging off her bag in the common room, she tossed it on the floor. No one passed out at the table for once- shocking. Maybe Fergus was being stingy with the ale.

She'd stripped down to her leathers at the barracks, and the door barely creaked when she pushed it open. Still, Howe was a light sleeper, and she had to be careful. He kept a knife under his pillow.

At least one.

The fire was banked to embers, a faint reddish glow cast through the comfortable room as she slid through the crack in the door. There was a 'grmph' from the hearth rug, but the instant Maggie realized it was her, the mabari closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Nathaniel was asleep on the side close to the door, arm thrown over his face, hoarding every pillow- which was his way- so she had to creep around the bed to sneak into the other side.

Isla pulled back the coverlet carefully, away from Nathaniel's sleeping form, attempting to slip in beside him.

There was a glint of metal in the faint vestiges of light; a knife, pointed at her.

“That doesn't look comfortable to sleep on, no thanks,” she said, and he grumbled sleepily, flipping the knife deftly in his long fingers and sliding it back under the pillow. “D'you wanna be the big spoon or little spoon?”

“I despise you, Cousland,” he replied faintly, yanking one of the pillows out from under his head and throwing it to her. “Stay on your side.”

“It's like you didn't miss me.”

“Imagine that,” Nathaniel slurred sleepily. “How long until dawn?”

“Five hours or so.” Isla kicked off her boots and clambered in, far too used to sleeping in her leathers. “I was going to give them an extra hour or two since we got in so late.”

“I should say something about encouraging weakness but I'm not going to complain. Be quiet and go to sleep.”

She propped her cheek up on her hand and stared at his mostly-hidden face in the dark. “You better not have grown that stupid beard again in my absence.”

He snorted. “Beg pardon, are you my Commander or my mother?”

“I'm just saying. I'll get you drunk and shave it off.”

This time the pillow hit her directly in the face, and Isla grinned to herself, finally settling down. Nathaniel was fun to annoy. They fell asleep in companionable silence, drifting off together. It'd been a long time, it was nice to fall back into old habits; she really should have come up for air more often.

Wasn't quite as nice as having someone to grab onto at night, but better than being alone.

When she woke up, he was already out of bed, but Maggie had taken her place. At least Maggie would cuddle her. Mabari breath in the face wasn't that bad, all told, even if it came with enthusiastic mabari kisses. Isla drowsed once Maggie settled again and listened to the sounds of her people getting ready for the day's march. Nathaniel had left the door cracked, no doubt to make sure she woke, but the noise abruptly got louder.

Isla squinted an eye open and lifted her chin over Maggie's head, peering blearily up into a beaming, heavily-tattooed dwarven face peeking in at her. “Sigrun.”

“Good morning! The Warden-Constable's gone down to inspect your 'so called Orlesian Wardens' as he put it. Didn't seem like he was looking forward to it. The Teryn said you should speak with him before we leave.”

“Right, Fergus would never let me live it down if I didn't. Who's holding down the fort back home if you're here?”

“Oghren. We're stretched kind of thin! Bethany had to take some of the men out to track down reports of darkspawn sighting to the east, and then we got word from you. A raven came with a message for you yesterday.”

“Nathaniel didn't mention any of that last night.” Isla finally freed herself from the sleepy mabari and swung off of the bed, rubbing her hand across her face. Sigrun stepped back and pulled the door open for her. There were some greetings from the four men having breakfast, and she nodded to them. Six, including Sig and Nathaniel, then. Well, it'd have to be enough.

“You did wake him up.”

Isla grinned lopsidedly, taking the small parchment handed to her as she wandered over to check the tea. Too-steeped, pitch-black and probably bitter as the Void. She'd take it.

Pouring herself a mug, she thumbed open the message with the other.

'Scouts report new Red Templar sightings at your destination. Appreciate if you could handle it while you're there, since you stole my conscripts. Use available Inquisition resources. -CR'

Isla grinned, passing the tiny message down to curious Sigrun who read it with a frown. “Red Templars? Templars aren't really our business, no matter what color.”

“They're infected with red lyrium. We've discussed the stuff before, remember Kirkwall? Once I debrief you guys on the way there we'll decide if we need to handle it.”

“If you say so,” Sigrun said cheerfully, but dubiously. “Who's CR?”

Isla smiled to herself, shaking her head. “Cullen Rutherford, the Inquisition's Commander. Ogh- right, Oghren's not here, but he'd remember him. We fought the archdemon together. Not him specifically, but he was with the Templars there.”

“Oof. Inquisition,” Sigrun said dubiously, and then smiled at Isla's questioning look. “Just sounds really grim, that's all.”

“That's rich, coming from a dead woman,” Isla quipped, and they both chuckled. Draining her tea, she refilled the mug, lifting it in salute. “I'll chew on something on the road. I'm going to go see what my brother needs.”

“Right you are, Commander!”

Tucking the small note into her belt, Isla headed out of the quarters. Fergus would, this time of day, likely be in the main hall. If she didn't get too bogged down by niceties, she could manage to have a decent chat before she had to be on her way. Damn, she wished they weren't stretched like this, but there wasn't anything for it.

In times of unrest, everything seemed to go to the Void at once.

The guard outside the door opened it for her, and she gave them a nod as she paced in. The entire hall had been redecorated, understandably, and the twinge of horror passing the threshold used to give her had faded. Time was she couldn't even walk into the Castle, let alone into this hall. Which was why Nathaniel put up with her demanding they share a bed.

He still remembered the screaming nightmares.

Isla always felt bad about that, it wasn't really his guilt to bear.

Fergus, gray in his hair and lines on his face, was reading over a letter by the great fireplace. She gave him a critical look as she approached, eyes narrowed. He still looked fit, shoulders straight, face thoughtful. He looked more like father by the da- year, it seemed like.

“I see that Howe's still managing to weasel his way out of death,” Fergus said without looking up, smiling at her scoff. Their eyes met, and his voice went easier. “Hello, pup.”

“That weasel is my Warden-Constable and very reluctant best friend,” she reminded him, not for the first time.

A hearty arm-clasp turned into a brief hug, and a slap on her back as she pulled back.

“You've been gone for too long. A year without a word,” he scolded, and smiled at her wince. “I know, you were unreachable. As I was told. Repeatedly.”

“Hard to send a letter in the Deep Roads,” she quipped, and offered a slow smile. “I am sorry, Fergus. I wasn't expecting to get swept up like I was, and now swept up in this?” His expression went troubled, her hand tucking reassuringly against his elbow. “It'll be just fine. Aunt Dierdre's Evie is running the Inquisition with the same imperious demanding that she tried on me as a child. They'll get things back to normal or face her wrath. Possibly and. And face her wrath.”

“I seem to recall you complaining about her as a little one. Queen Anora's had some choice things to say about the Inquisition, but I let it go in one ear out the other,” Fergus acknowledged, and then glanced down at the table with a sigh. “She's still upset about Redcliffe. How long have I got you for?”

“Not long. Anything that's business can wait, let's just have a proper chat until Nathaniel feels brave enough to come fetch me.”

“I'd like that,” Fergus confirmed, and they shared a smile.

They took what time they had to talk about nothing important. Isla suspected that Nathaniel had stretched it for her as far as he could justify. When he came to get her, she felt a bit more all right with the Anora nonsense. It didn't seem as if Fergus was upset over it, and as he had no intentions to leave Highever even if they wed, most of her protests were silenced.

They said their farewells, and rode out for the Storm Coast, she and Nathaniel leading the way. Isla really was tired of horses, but her backside and thighs were beginning to adjust again, making the aches less terrible. They rode in comfortable silence for a time, along the coastal road that was kept fairly well maintained by both rulers hereabouts. Things with Bann Mac Eanraig were pleasant enough, which was good.

Considering cousin Leon was their closest family left any more in Ferelden, it was important to stay on his good side.

Her feelings about Rendon Howe were as dead as the man himself, but Maker had he ever come close to wiping out the Couslands.

“I didn't know you were intelligent enough to be that deep in thought, Commander.”

“I didn't know you were suicidal enough to say something like that, Constable,” she retorted to Nathaniel, eyes shifting sidelong. “Just thinking about my brother. I lose track of time so easily down in the Roads.”

“I don't know how you can be comfortable down there. Every time we need to trek down I'm waiting for the ceiling to collapse a mountain on my head,” Nathaniel said, expression as stoic as ever despite the words.

“You get used to it. Just like Sigrun got used to the sky.”

“No thank you.”

Isla smiled wryly to herself. “Thought so. So about those Inquisition messengers you ignored...”

“Need I remind you what happened when we took in refugees? Mages and murder? All of this Darkspawn activity is only making me feel more correct- and they went and _conscripted_ Wardens?” Nathaniel replied with just a hint of disbelief.

“All right, all right, you've got me there- listen, there's a reason I refused to bring you in under the banner. But in turn, you have to realize _why_ I'm allowing this conscription.”

Nathaniel glanced over his shoulder at the Orlesian Wardens trailing behind them. He grimaced. “What Warden Commander Clarel did is utterly unthinkable.”

“And it looks bad for all of us. We have a hard enough time between Blights without fucking...blood magic and murder and false Callings, and- fuck, Nathaniel. It's bad enough Weisshaupt is silent without us barring the gates too.”

“Maybe they know something we do not. Maybe survival is more important than politics,” he said, troubled.

That silenced them both for a time, riding side by side down the stony road. Finally Isla sighed through her nose, slowly shaking her head. “I think about that every day. I'm sorry about my- I think you called it my 'mad quest'- but there has to be a better way. A better way than death in the Deep Roads before our time, better than dying out between Blights only to be caught in a terrifying mad scramble for allies and bodies when it comes again. There has to be a way to break this cycle. If only I could discover what the Architect had done, how he freed them from the Archdemon...maybe we could be free as well.”

Nathaniel gave her a dry sidelong look. “And what if we discover the Calling is what keeps us from letting the Taint turn us into monsters? What then?”

“I'd rather kill my own men than let the Calling take them,” Isla said grimly, shaking her head.

“At least we do some good before we die,” Nathaniel said, predictably. “Not all can say the same.”

“We can do more good alive,” Isla contradicted, just as predictably. “Maker, I don't want to rehash this again. We have this fight every time we see each other. Have any of your prisoners agreed to the Joining?”

“One of them, he's with Senior Warden Bethany. We'll see if any more are interested when we return. I'm only taking them one at a time, though. I won't risk another attack,” Nathaniel said, shaking his head. “Why exactly are you receiving orders from the Inquisition over things that aren't our business?”

“I wouldn't call it an order,” Isla temporized, grimacing. She supposed the message without the nuance behind it would have looked a bit like one to Nathaniel, though. “It was more of a request, Commander Cullen and I are friendly enough for it to not be offensive. He's stretched thin. We'll confer with the Inquisition scouts and soldiers holding the area when we arrive and see if it's something worth our time. Does that sound fair?'

“I suppose,” Nathaniel allowed, and then let out a long sigh. “But if it seems too involved I will request that we decline. Darkspawn are one thing, but involving ourselves in this Chantry mess is something entirely different. Despite the conscription, the line _must_ be drawn and kept firm. Just because they've lost control of the Templars doesn't mean they get to use us as a replacement.”

“You gonna take the title off my hands, finally?” Isla asked hopefully, pleased to hear the confidence in his voice.

Nathaniel shook his head, gaze fixed on the road ahead. “No. You stepping down is bad for everyone. Do you think I'm pleased with this either? I'm doing all the work.”

“You love it,” Isla said with a faint chuckle. “It works with the men we have, but they're familiar with the situation. If we're adding in new bodies it'll just undermine your authority. I'd just rather name you Warden-Commander and be done with it for now.”

“It's your choice, but I know how worried you've been about the crown getting ideas, and you being in charge helps,” Nathaniel pointed out. “I'm the son of a traitor now. My family name is reviled, and by extension so am I. Making me Commander would give her an excuse, if she was looking for one. I'm the only one who knows how to run the Arling besides you. Can you imagine asking Oghren to gather taxes or worry about food imports after a bad season?”

“I'm sorry, Nathaniel. None of that is fair to you, you haven't done a thing wrong,” she sighed, and then raised an eyebrow at the sidelong look he gave her. “What?”

“You keep forgetting I tried to assassinate you,” he said.

“Oh, I've never forgotten,” she said, smiling at his faint, nasal chuckle. “Never forgotten. All right, fine. I'm not allowed to not be the Warden-Commander of Ferelden. Do you want to be the temporary Warden-Commander of Orlais?” She asked it slyly, laughing at his look of vague disgust cast at her down his long nose. “It's all you've ever dreamed of, isn't it?”

“We have to follow the commands of the First Warden, even if he's been bloody silent since. The Arling of Amaranthine must be held for the Wardens. If that means I have to use you as a puppet ruler for your name while you run around the Deep Roads, so be it. Live with it, I am.” Nathaniel sounded less than pleased, but resigned.

“I cannot believe I got out of marriage to some asshole and politics and bullshit only to have the Wardens decide 'hey, you should try politics',” Isla groused.

“I can't believe I escaped having to marry Cousland's rude, insufferable daughter only to end up her lifelong partner anyways,” Nathaniel replied, keeping his expression utterly flat.

“Where did we fuck up?” Isla asked flippantly.

“I don't know,” Nathaniel said grimly, “but we did.”

Her laughter actually managed to eke a grudging smile from him.

Dearest Evelyn,

We're on the road- or more appropriately, on the river. The children are safe in Ostwick, the twins have finally accepted that they weren't allowed to come with me, and Liam is holding Starkhaven. I've had good news on the hunt for the slavers, but we'll speak on that in person.

I'm looking forward to seeing you.

It finally feels as if things are under control, rather than bearing me along like a wave. I suppose I may be alone in that, but it brings me comfort. I would welcome the opportunity to help you bear more of your burden with my own lessened. Then again, I am about to face Lady Dierdre.

Perhaps my burdens are not as light as I make them out to be.

Teasing, of course, I am looking forward to seeing your father and mother. And Lord Alan and Lady Violette. I have communicated with your eldest brother over matters of import- that is to say imports, and not important things- but he is as taciturn as he ever is and the letters are nothing but business.

I have been thinking a great deal on the last letter I received from you. I think your concerns are valid, as I have for the most part been perfectly happy to let you order me about with impunity. I do enjoy your demanding nature. And, just so we are clear- I like you, just as you are.

Very much, Evelyn.

I know things are indelibly changed, but my biggest regret in what happened between us was always losing you as my friend.

But I think there is a vast difference, sweetheart, between me being content to let you be as imperious as you like with me, and watching you try to dictate other people's lives. Just because I generally don't enjoy saying no to you doesn't mean I'm incapable of it. If two people are going to spend their lives together, you are right. They must find a balance.

As much as I don't like the phrasing of 'standing up to you', I understand why you fear I might not be able to. So if it is reassurance you need, it is reassurance you will have. If I ever disagree with you, we will discuss it together- in private, please. I know you do enjoy a good public argument, but let's save those for frivolous things.

If I cannot see you before the Winter Palace, I understand. I will try not to scandalize anyone when we meet and behave like a proper ally of the Inquisition. Lady Montilyet and I have been communicating about the oddity of my invitation (and your family's), and what expectations there might be.

I'm not terribly concerned.

I expect people will just want to point and stare and whisper. They're welcome to. I will be at your side, and that is all I need.

Yours,

Sebastian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for every hit, comment, and kudos <3 They keep me writing, and writing keeps me sane.


	38. Let the Game Begin

'Please tender my regrets to mother for me.'

A death sentence.

Sebastian had recently faced an archdemon attack, swathes of undead, monstrous beasts, a Venatori attack on his citizenry, but they all paled before the task now set before him. He couldn't deny Liam. It made sense for one of them to stay in Starkhaven, and Sebastian was the one who had been invited to Halamshiral. But to face Lady Dierdre and tell her that one of her children had denied her summonses...

Maker preserve him.

He'd gotten himself settled at what had been touted as a fairly nice inn, his men down the road. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten that even smaller Orlesian cities were still prone to the choices that plagued Val Royeaux. The bed was too large and too soft. The other furniture was all slightly too small, as if it had been designed that way on purpose to make room for more odd flourishes. Luxury should not be so uncomfortable.

There was a statue in the corner that would likely wake him from his sleep with its staring.

He settled himself regardless of the heinous cherub's gimlet gaze, washed the road dirt away, and then had a very uncharacteristic bout of waffling over his attire. He generally found it easy to survey a room and decide what was appropriate. Unfortunately, with Lady Dierdre, he had an inkling that dressing as he was accustomed to in Starkhaven would get him labeled as being 'proud'.

A fate worse than death.

He settled himself eventually, knowing that preparation would not win this war. The Crown of Starkhaven had no place on the road, but he had a circlet that did in lieu. When the knock at his door came as he settled it, he gestured to the guard beside it. The innkeeper had seemed confused that he hadn't brought a bevvy of servants, but his single valet would at least sleep in comfort tonight in the adjacent room. The guards slept elsewhere so they could enjoy themselves without feeling underfoot.

He was surprised when the door opened to not find a page or a soldier, but a brick of a man just a touch below Sebastian in height, hair much like Maximilian's but with the silver streak significantly wider.

“Lord Trevelyan,” he greeted, stepping in to welcome Evelyn's eldest brother, and current head of the House. “I wasn't expecting to see you.”

A large, calloused hand clasped his forearm in a grip that was only gentled by its restraint. It could have crushed him otherwise. Alan wasn't much for smiling, but the fact that he wasn't having the bones in his hand pulverized was friendly enough.

“Prince Vael,” Alan greeted, the dark voice that could be large and booming as easily as it could be soft modulated to a pleasant volume. “My Violette sent me to fetch you. Our Agnes wrote that you might need a hand.”

Relief overtook him. He followed Alan out into the gilded hall, forever grateful for the careful alchemy of family dealings, an art he was only a novitate of. They always seemed to have things in hand.

“I know why Liam didn't come, but he seemed to find too much delight in setting me to the task.”

“Liam and wee Max have always found too much joy in mischief. I'm not here to take it from your shoulders, but I'll be at your back,” Alan said, slow and ponderous. “Maybe in the future you can be at mine, hmm?”

He considered that as they left the inn together, soldiers peeling away to join them in both colors. His more numerous. The request was unsurprisingly blunt, but oddly timed.

“Is all well, Lord Alan?”

Alan took his time, hands clasped behind his back. “There's a fuss in the streets of Ostwick, a fuss. People aren't happy with the Teyrn. Unfortunately, father isn't willing to stir to address it, and if no one in the family does, it might get a bit sticky.”

“You've a mind to take the Terynir?” Sebastian tried to keep his voice neutral, holding back the surprise. He supposed things might be unsettled with Evelyn's feats. It made some sense.

“I've a _mind_ to keep people stable in these troublesome times,” Alan replied, even and emotionless. “If it's their will that Trevelyan take the Tyernir, then that is what will be. Trying to name our Evelyn as Champion backfired.”

“She felt it wasn't appropriate, especially being incapable of coming directly to the city's defense should it be required.”

“I agree. Her humility was wise. The position of Champion is a sacred duty that contradicts the one the Maker has given to her. I will try to call a Convocation of the Ostwick landed and do it properly, but knowing other cities support my claim would put a shield at my back.”

“Aye,” Sebastian agreed mildly. It made perfect sense, in his opinion, and he would have likely been happy to support after a quick meeting of his council, but this was Evelyn's family. “If you've decided this was the best way, I understand. Now is not the time for a weak hand in any seat of power. I need to discuss the idea with Evelyn. I hope you understand.”

“Oh aye. That's the right way of it,” Alan said, falling into ponderous silence.

They paced the streets of Halamshiral quietly, shoulder to shoulder, braced by soldiers. The city was full of lights, banishing its horrendous past with glitter and gossip. They drew a fair amount of notice when they found a fountained square, turning off to another street. Glittering masks and ruffled overdone frocks, visages followed them curiously on their trek. Likely those not important enough to attend the 'ball'.

He regretted all over again that Evie had been delayed.

“I feel like a pig in a parlor,” Alan remarked, rousing a surprised laugh from Sebastian. “As if we rate to these peacocks. Our wee Evelyn's brought us to strange days.”

“I was surprised the family accepted the invitation- I feel as if those who invited might be surprised by its acceptance,” Sebastian admitted with a faint chuckle.

“They shouldn't have extended it if they didn't want it accepted, but you're well right. I think there was a scramble when we actually accepted the invitation.” Alan shook his head slowly, expression grim.

Groping for an easier topic, Sebastian struck out hopefully. “How is Lady Violette?”

For the first time, Alan smiled.

Violette was much as Sebastian had remembered, slight and delicate and effortlessly gracious. She'd greeted him as warmly as Agnes and Liam had, but with far less fervor. Her expressive soft blue eyes, however, spoke volumes as they clasped hands. Silvery blonde had turned to silver, but she looked as girlish as she ever had.

“I've been so worried about you all,” she said, in that charming mix of her childhood Orlesian accent and the Trevelyan brogue. “Your Highness-”

“Not you, too,” he scolded, and she laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Sebastian, then. Oh, what gives any of you the right to grow older?”

“Time passes as the Maker wills it,” Alan said ponderously, and then almost smiled as his wife shot him a look. “What are you going to do, scold him for being older?”

“Perhaps,” Violette said, cheeks dimpling in a soft smile.

“You've stalled me enough,” he teased them both, making Violette flush. “I have some regrets to tender to your Lady mother.”

“Oh no. Liam!” Violette exclaimed, exasperated. “That boy...”

“Is halfway to fifty,” Alan reminded his wife. Still, it almost made him smile. “He's set in his ways.”

“And I'm tendering Evelyn and Maximilian's, I fear. They had some dealings that delayed their arrival.” He followed Alan out of the inn's ostentatious front room- anywhere else it'd be a common room, here it was more akin to a parlor. “She won't be available before our trip to the Winter Palace.”

“Oh dear,” Violette sighed, disappointed. “Will any Inquisition vanguard be arriving before her? I have some things for her. It's been so long, I wanted to do her hair, at least. I always do her hair.”

They paused up the wide hallway before a door, turning to face one another again. It felt a bit like delaying a confrontation. Really, he shouldn't be thinking of it in those terms, but it was a habit from Evie and Max when they'd been children. 'Going to see mother' had often been phrased as 'war'.

“I'll find out where they're having Evelyn stay and make sure any packages you have are waiting for her,” he promised Violette, who smiled beatifically up at him. “Just- she has to go in uniform, and she isn't happy about it, so I would avoid anything that might make her more aware of that fact.”

“You're so thoughtful.” He likely deserved the surprise in Violette's voice, so it didn't sting too badly. “I won't send the jewelry along, then. I didn't know what color she was wearing, but I assumed Trevelyan, so I brought some things-”

“She's Chantry military now, blossom, she won't be wearing Trevelyan colors,” Alan reminded his wife. “Sebastian, go see Mother. She's waiting.”

“And Father, of course,” Violette agreed. “We're across the hall. Mother and Father eat early, but we haven't had supper yet. Will you join us after?”

“I would be delighted,” Sebastian said, grateful all over again for this second chance with Evelyn's family. It was odd that even only in a month and some, he'd become so accustomed to Liam and Agnes' company. Alan was as standoffish as ever, but that was all personality. Not distaste.

If he'd been upset with Sebastian, it would have been presented very clearly and honestly.

Turning to face the door waiting for him, alone, he pushed it open.

Time for battle.

The entry to the inn suite was more comfortable than his-- though he supposed an Orlesian would have called it more 'humble'. There was no servant in the room, and so he paused before breaching the open door beyond, firelight spilling in. Closing the door behind himself, he crossed the small receiving room and knocked on the doorframe, not glancing within.

It felt rude.

There was a wordless mumble of inquiry, akin to the rumble of a sleeping bear. And then there was a laugh, so like Evelyn's, though quicker and less flowing. It ended in a sigh that was exactly like her daughter's, however.

“Prince Vael doesn't need to hover awkwardly in the doorway like a whelp about to get scolded,” the dowager Lady Trevelyan said sharply, age in no way taking the strength from that voice. “Respect the dignity of your station, boy, and come in here and say hello.”

Only Lady Dierdre could make 'Prince Vael' and 'boy' sound like equal titles.

Reminding himself that he had faced Arishoks and Archdemons, Sebastian steeled himself and walked through the doorway to greet Evie's mother.

Stepping into the room, he took it in at a glance. Lord Tavish Trevelyan was seated in a chair dwarfed by the man himself, silver-haired and square-jawed. Age had in no way withered the strength of his physique, though his shoulders stooped just a touch. Still, it was difficult to remember that he was not yet even seventy- he'd been gray almost as long as Sebastian had known him.

Lady Trevelyan was taller than her daughter, and slim and sharp. Her features were aristocratic, but the softness of her mouth-- Evie's mouth-- took some of the severity away. She was one would often call a striking, or handsome woman. Dierdre stood with a hand on the back of the chair, but when he stepped in she released it, pacing toward him.

Sebastian had never trained in the military- only with the militia in his youth, and with private instructors. His time with Hawke had been anything but regimented, and his rank meant no one in the Inquisition tended to give him orders.

Somehow, facing Lady Dierdre's piercing gaze still felt like being examined by his commander.

He unconsciously straightened.

“Let me have a look at you, then,” she said, tilting her chin up and staring down her long nose at him. Hands clasped his cheeks, tilting him down to meet her appraising, dark stare. Lord Tavish hadn't said a word-- not surprising.“Hmh. Eyes aren't bloodshot, at least. Still have a chin. Laying off the drinking these days, are we?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he replied, rather than even bother to find offense with this utter lack of protocol. There was no ranking this room-- not when facing Evelyn's parents. Rather than being caught out as a liar in time, he admitted, “I have been known to have a glass on occasion, but I can handle myself now.”

“Good. We've already got a family drunk, we don't need another. Tavish, are you ever going to say hello?” Dierdre said, still gripping Sebastian's cheeks.

“Son,” Tavish greeted simply, the single word a quiet rumble. A surprising, but welcome greeting.

Biting back the instinctive, emotional reaction the word brought, he inclined his head to Lord Tavish. “My Lord.”

“No more of that, it _should_ be Father and Mother,” Dierdre scolded, releasing his stinging cheeks. He resisted the urge to reach up and rub them. “Though why you two are still dithering about, I certainly don't know. She's all but running the remnants of the Chantry, she can't find someone to handle the ceremony? I sent our permission.”

Lord Tavish didn't say a word, but he did minutely cock an eyebrow at Dierdre as she returned to her side. A subtle look that was acknowledged, returned in a tilt of her head and a purse of her lips, an alchemy that needed no words but contained an entire conversation. A family with many ways of communicating- but this language he couldn't speak.

“These are troublesome days, and-”

“And all the more reason to get on with things. It's a bad look for a second betrothal to drag on so long. You two haven't the luxury of a leisurely saunter this time,” Dierdre interrupted him.

There was no point in reminding Dierdre that they hadn't exactly been betrothed the first time around. This was also just not a fight he wanted to have. He'd certainly lose. “Evelyn and I are doing things in our own fashion, Lady Dierdre. When we're ready, we'll settle it all.”

The narrowed gaze cast at him could have seen through any lie. “Evelyn's holding things back.”

Sebastian hid a wince. “I did not say that, my Lady. Evelyn has a great responsibility on her shoulders, a burden no mortal heart could be expected to easily carry. Marriage is less of a priority than the fate of Thedas.”

“I know my dear lamb, Sebastian, you can't hide a thing from me.” Lady Dierdre heaved a sigh, curling her fingers against the back of the chair. “My daughter...” She shook her head, and glanced away from her husband's mild stare. “Well. Speaking of my children...”

Sebastian froze.

“Why is Liam not here to greet me as well?”

_Maker save him._

Once she escaped Josephine's well-meaning last minute advice, Evelyn fled back to the darkness of the Winter Palace courtyard, trying to get air.

She couldn't breathe.

Vivienne had assured her she was ready, Josephine seemed confident if concerned, and even Cullen had given her some encouraging words. And yet, trying to cross the threshold felt a task so monumental that it might break her. Why was she so nervous?

“Oh why couldn't I at least have a nice dress?” she gasped to herself, despairing as she wrung her hands and paced unseeing through the crowds of gawking nobility.

She ignored bickering and gossip, tittering and whispers, pacing for a small fountain trickling away in a dark corner. The hum of conversation bubbled behind her, a murmur no more comprehensible than the water. Evelyn twisted the fabric of her jacket pressing her fist to her breastbone. She had faced an Archdemon. She had been in the Fade. Twice.

Why was this such a great hurdle?

“Here you are,” a dark, amused voice said from behind her.

Relief flooded through her. The tension in her chest eased, exhaled in a gasp as her body stopped betraying her. It was the voice she needed to hear most of all right now.

“I find myself unexpectedly distraught,” she confessed, staring at a ring glinting in the bowl of the fountain. What was it doing there? “I apologize for the delay, but I am-”

“C'mon, Boss,” Bull chuckled, at ease and reading her as casually as he ever did. “Don't dance around me, huh?”

“I'm trying!” she protested, fluttering a hand against her chest that felt too tight. “You know how I can be. Tonight _has_ to go well. The pressure-”

“Isn't gonna get any better if you fuck around about it,” Bull said, clasping her shoulder as she turned to face the mercenary. The cursing didn't bother her in the least- not from him. “We've got this. I told you I would. There's no gossip or bullshit in this place that is gonna get past us, huh? Don't worry so much.” She could see the edge to his smile, knew it was as teasing as it was comforting.

They fell into sign language almost instantly, becoming a reflex between them. “I need you to help me.”

“I've got you. But I don't think it's assassins or politics that've got you so wound up, Boss.”

“Oh, you're not supposed to turn it on me!” she protested, enduring his laugh with a spike of annoyance. It was one thing to know things, and it was another to rub her nose in them. “Really, restrain yourself, The Iron Bull.”

He laughed again, throwing his head back, the rich chortle filling the air. His signs were quick and clear, having picked up their dialect near-effortlessly. “What are you gonna do? Avoid the guy?”

“Who?” she lied desperately.

“Oh come on,” Bull signed, exasperated.

Evie sighed explosively, tugging down the front of the stupid scarlet military jacket. “I'm allowed to be nervous! Andraste's blessed name, my life is very stressful! I-”

“You don't trust yourself,” Bull replied, and if he'd sounded smug she would have punched him. Instead, he was understanding. Easy. “You haven't from the start, around him. Hey. I was there. You were too pissed to even talk to him, even after so long.”

“Don't do this to me, not now,” she begged, closing her eyes to cut out his words. Unfortunately, he just switched to talking.

“Okay. Does it help to just think about the mission?” Bull asked, still amused. If he'd hid it she would have just been annoyed. When she nodded blindly, he chuckled. “Okay, then. But you know, I gotta tell you. For someone who hates the stories and songs, you've sure got a way of doing exactly what makes people write 'em. Maybe try not running into his arms this time.”

“You're an ass,” she accused spitefully, cracking open an eye. “And I am well aware of exactly what you are doing. Stop trying to make me relax, oaf.” And yet, he already had, some of that knot inside of her chest unclenching so she could breathe again.

Laughing, Bull turned away from her, a wall of Qunari in the same bright red uniform she wore-- just much, much bigger.

“Half the people in this place are wondering all sorts of things about my ass, Boss.”

“Maker, why do I deal with you at all?” she groused, but found herself steeled despite it. She sighed heavily and he paused expectantly, but she just shook her head rapidly at his back. “It's not empress or assassins or...bloody ancient Darkspawn I'm most afraid of tonight, Bull. It's my family's safety. But it shouldn't be, it makes me weak. I need to be kept on track.”

Bull nodded, not judging, just understanding. It didn't meant he didn't think she was a blithering idiot, it just meant he knew where her head was at. “I've got you. Just go find him. I'm not great with shields, Boss, but I get that's how you fight. And I know he'd be yours any time.”

“That's a pretty good bit of encouragement, Bull,” she said, knowing herself too well to think she wouldn't hold back too long and then do exactly what he'd suggested- running impulsively and publicly into disaster. “Except...”

“Hmmm?”

“I've seen Sebastian try to use a shield. He's shite at it.”

Bull's laughter followed her into the darkness.

This time she felt more confident, making her way through the glittering crowd with her chin up, a beacon. Of ugly red military wear. Oh well. Evelyn of all people understood political necessity, and they did certainly stand out.

The palace doors beckoned, light spilling out, and she padded up the stairs alone. Bull had her back. So did everyone else. She had nothing to fear within except political missteps, possible assassins, intrigue, mayhem, and possibly a renewed civil war. Nothing at all to worry about. Except for...him.

She emerged into the light, the palace echoing with meaningless murmurs of conversation, and he was waiting for her. Brilliantly blue eyes fixed on the doors waiting for her, and as she took him in he was already approaching. It was funny how odd it was to see Sebastian in something apart from his armor or the comfortable, casual clothing he chose in their brief moments of rest-- she hadn't seen him this dressed up since they were young. Appropriate colors, as she'd requested, though she wasn't sure if she was more amused or exasperated that he'd decided to go in full, very out of fashion Starkhaven regalia.

It was very Free Marches of the bloody man to wear a kilt to an Orlesian ball. She supposed she should be grateful to have a betrothed with such well-turned calves, though. And it did suit the damned man exceedingly well.

He was every inch her Prince tonight.

But confidences written in letters were so much easier for her than face to face.

An abrupt memory of her sentimental scribblings flooded her cheeks with color, bringing an unwanted awkwardness to the moment as he paused before her. Thank the Maker she didn't do something silly like run to him, but all of the eyes on them only made it worse. “I didn't want to have our reunion in the middle of a ball,” she admitted quietly. “I am so sorry I was delayed. I hope it wasn't too-”

He interrupted her with a smile. “Come.”

A hand extended to her, expectant.

Blinking, she gazed down at his hand for a moment, before hesitantly reaching out and grasping it. Immediately he turned, pulling her after him, adrift and confused. Gilded lights spun past.

“Sebastian, what-”

“Hush,” he replied, amused.

He drew her away from the grand hall ahead, her haphazard steps clattering on the marble floor. Bemused at his apparent running away from the ball, she was about to say something when he pulled her around a corner instead. He pushed open a heavy wooden door with the heel of his hand, and tugged her in after him.

“Sebastian, what?”

“I may have done some reconnaissance,” he admitted, turning to face her with a smile.

They were in a narrow stairwell, leading up to a room above that seemed to have quite a massively high ceiling. She could hear the noise of the ball still quite clearly, but they were shadowed and hidden. The embarrassment came back, and she glanced down and aside from him. He hadn't let go of her hand.

“I-” Cursing her mind for the idiotic, flustered state she'd found herself in, she stared at the floor and shook her head. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me, I'm feeling rather nerve-wracked. This night is going to be so troublesome, and I-”

“Evie.” His voice was so soft and amused that she finally hazarded a peek upwards at him through her lashes. Their eyes met, and his smile gentled. “I'm so happy to see you.”

“I-” Clearing her throat, she smiled faintly and dropped her head. “I apologize. There is just so much to be done tonight, I am feeling overwhelmed, and-”

“Evelyn,” he repeated, a hand touching her chin gently, lifting it. “I'm happy to see you.”

“I-”

Despite her earlier bracing, the soft brush of his fingers up the line of her jaw rendered her speechless. She leaned in, and his hand slid to the nape of her neck, fingers warm and secure. His forehead leaned against hers, closing her in, a small and secure space where it was only them.

“I missed you,” she confessed quietly.

The triumph in his smile she could likely admit was deserved. “And I you.”

They simply stood there, forehead to forehead, his hand bracing the back of her neck. She let her eyes close slowly, exhaling a long breath that took some of the tension from her shoulders, finally eased the last of the knot in her stomach. She shifted her hand in his, let his fingers lace between hers.

“May I kiss you?”

Childishly nervous, she gave a swift nod of her head, eyes still closed. Still, she could feel him on her skin, the warmth as he closed the last of the space between them. Soft, brief, the chaste kiss he pressed to her lips was a rather disappointing greeting. She'd been kissed with more enthusiasm by _family_. When he pulled back with a smile, her eyes opened. She frowned at him.

“I haven't had time to do anything wrong yet,” he told her with a chuckle.

“You call that a bloody kiss, Sebastian Vael?”

“Evie,” he protested, but her pleased and petty mind noted that he didn't seem to be in any hurry to pull back from her.

“Yes?” she inquired quietly.

There was a moment of struggle on his face, and she waited through it, tilting her head to the side.

“Sweetheart, you know I've taken vows.”

“Oh aye, chastity and _poverty_ ,” she retorted, not above trying to prick him even now. “How is that working out for you, Prince Vael, ruler of the most bloody ostentatious city in the Free Marches?”

He let out a sigh through his nose that turned into a small, surprised exhale as she shook off his hand and tugged him closer, banishing the space he was attempting to put between them. “I'm not trying to be a hypocrite, Evie. I'm only-” He faltered, and the pensive, hurt expression on his face made her feel guilty for teasing him. Her eyes dropped, and his hand immediately lifted to her cheek again, a small caress, gently nudging her chin back up. Their eyes met again, and he smiled. “I never want to treat you so poorly again, Evie. You are so precious, and I cannot bear the thought of hurting you.”

“Ach, Sebastian,” she declared, fond exasperation welling. “I don't want to be set on a shelf and admired. I am not a thing, I am a woman.”

“And how well have I treated women in my life?” he retorted with a sigh, leaning in and kissing her cheek, forehead thumping against the door next to her head. She allowed it, with a roll of her eyes. Nervousness was long-gone now, and amusement had taken its place.

When _he_ was the one off-balance, it only made her feel confident.

“If kissing your betrothed as if you actually enjoy it means you're going to descend into a pit of avarice and lust, Sebastian, then all your hard work and suffering has been for nothing,” she said tartly, attention drawn by the now-crooked circlet, which she languidly reached up and drew off, smoothing a hand over his hair to set it to rights. “You're not a bloody ravening beast barely held back by vows to the Maker.”

She tried not to fluster as he leaned into the caress, her fingers gently sweeping strands of hair back behind his ear. Things between them were different now, falling into places they hadn't before after her nonsense on the bridge and all the letters between them. Evelyn found she rather liked it.

She tweaked the top of his ear. The temptation to mess him a bit instead was there, but tonight was too important to dishevel Sebastian. They both had to navigate this Orlesian nonsense.

“Did you just steal the crown of Starkhaven?” he asked her and turned his head to the side to peer at her. Sebastian pulled an affronted face as she set it on her head.

“This isn't the actual crown of Starkhaven, I know what that looks like,” Evelyn replied, trying to keep it from slipping down too far, leaving it drunkenly askew. “This is mine now, I'm the Prince. I'm going to banish you. You can move to Ansburg and be a pig farmer.”

“This is treason, you know.” It did as she wanted, as she saw the tension in his eyes fade away.

She tilted the circlet slightly, lifting her chin in challenge. “You may have your throne back, Prince Vael, if you kiss me like you mean it. Otherwise? Pigs. We don't have long before the Games begin, you know.”

“Well aware.”

He hesitantly lifted a hand, and she made it easier by leaning in to the touch before he could second-guess it, fingers grazing along her jaw. They brushed along her hairline, back to her neck again, more uncertain than the first time. Before he could annoy her any further, Evelyn popped up on her toes and banished the space between them.

“Pigs,” she threatened him, nose to nose, and Sebastian smiled.

There was still a certain amount of restraint when he kissed her again, but at least it was a proper kiss, his lips relaxed instead of tense. Still not quite what Evelyn was looking for despite the excited thrill of butterflies in her stomach, but when she made the attempt to press her luck, he broke the kiss, head turning to the side. Evie frowned, nose nudged up against his cheek.

“You are possibly the worst person I know.”

“I am honored to be so highly thought of by such a wonderful woman,” he replied, ignoring the grimace she pulled. She could _see_ the smile at the corner of his mouth. Maybe she should bite it.

Whatever odd fumbling he was doing with his attention distracted from her came to an end, and he lifted a hand to her ear, fidgeting with something.

“Sebastian?”

“I told you I would bring you something,” he reminded her, and then dropped something, making a small noise of annoyance. “Blast. Excuse me.”

Bemused, she stepped back as he picked up something small and glittery from the floor, rising again with it in hand. Before he could try to do it himself again, she held out her hand. Smiling, chagrined, he passed her the earrings. Pretty pear-shaped drops of faceted ruby and ornate gold, she thought she remembered them.

“Your mother's.”

“Yours,” he corrected her, smiling as she leaned in and showed him how to undo the simple backing. “Ah. Thank you. I should have known better than to try for a dramatic gesture.”

When he stepped back, she stalled him, those silly butterflies beginning their flittering in her stomach again. Trying to find the words, she caught his hand, offering the earring back properly. He glanced up at her curiously. “No, I- please, try again.”

He smiled, eyes softening as he nodded. Taking the earrings from her, he opened the second one as she'd shown him, and then leaned in when she tilted her head to the side. His fingers were cautious, careful, but every small touch on the sensitive skin of her earlobe felt magnified. She could forgive him for fumbling a bit, but unfortunately it felt a bit like teasing her, especially when his knuckle grazed the sensitive spot behind her ear.

If he hadn't been jabbing her with an earring, she would have jumped in place. Her stomach certainly clenched. Such a casual touch should not be allowed to have such an affect on her.

“Andraste's grace, perhaps I should have brought a bracelet,” he murmured, and a small laugh shivered silently through her. “I feel as if I'm stabbing you. It doesn't hurt, does it?”

“No, it only hurt for the first few months after I convinced Violette to do it,” she replied, smiling in thanks when he pulled back, the earring an uneven weight. The second one seemed a bit easier for him, but she held still regardless. “It's not military, but Josephine will have to live with that. Thank you, Sebastian. I feel a bit less plain now.”

“A burlap sack couldn't make you look plain, sweetheart,” he replied, still close to her cheek. His eyes were on her when she tilted her head to meet them. She felt her smile go shy as they stared at each other in the small shadowy space, hiding from the ball.

There was something in the intensity of the stare, in the fading curve of his lips that told her perhaps this time she might get the sort of kiss that she wanted...

And then the bells rang.

Evelyn dropped her head, and Sebastian sighed. She let him take the circlet from her at last, not protesting, and tugged down the front of his embroidered doublet. Couldn't have the Prince of Starkhaven disheveled.

“I suppose the Games begin, Evie.”

“I suppose they do,” she said, but this time she felt ready.

It was time to save the Empress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


End file.
